My cry in echo. But no sound is there—
And my shout seems but whisper. I’m afraid
To gaze or listen! Yet my eye and ear
Are servants to a necromance that God
Alone can hold o’er Nature! Ministers,
At this immortal shrine of the Great King!
Ye never tiring waters! Let me pass
Into your presence—and within the veil
That has no holy like it—a great veil,
Within which the omnipotent outspeaks