Yet not so, surely never so!
Only, as good my soul were suffered go
O'er the lagune: forth fare thee, put aside—
Entrance thy synod, as a god may glide
Out of the world he fills, and leave it mute
For myriad ages as we men compute,
Returning into it without a break
Being really in the flesh at Venice.
O' the consciousness! They sleep, and I awake
O'er the lagune, being at Venice.