(36) I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer’d, once did live,
And drink; and Ah! the passive lip I kiss’d.
How many kisses might it take—and give![65]—
(44) Why, if the Soul can fling the dust aside,
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
Wer’t not a Shame—wer’t not a Shame for him
In this clay carcase crippled to abide?—
(50-52) A Hair perhaps divides the False and True;
Yes; and a single Alif were the clue—