Within this clay hath been th’ o’ermastering flame;
Swift thoughts, that came and went,
Like torrents o’er me sent,
Have shaken, as a reed, my thrilling frame.
Like perfumes on the wind,
Which none may stay or bind,
The beautiful comes floating through my soul;
I strive with yearnings vain
The spirit to detain
Of the deep harmonies that past me roll!