And birds, of grapes the cunning shadow peckt.
Sense, outsides knows! the Soul, through all things sees,
Sense, circumstance! She doth, the substance view;
Sense sees the bark! but She, the life of trees;
Sense hears the sounds! but She, the concords true.
But why do I the Soul and Sense divide?
When Sense is but a power, which She extends,
Which being in divers parts diversified,
The divers Forms of objects apprehends?
This power spreads outward; but the root doth grow