Can in its fiercest aching know—
For only they are doomed to bleed.
Go thou, whose cunning spirit hears
The mystic music of the spheres—
Who gazest with unquailing eye
Through this star-isled immensity—
Whose soul would feed on brighter flowers
Than earth’s—and sit with pinion furl’d
Where in its lonely grandeur towers
The outside pillar of your world—