but if a living dance upon dead minds why,it is love;
but at the earliest spear of sun perfectly should disappear
moon's utmost magic,or stones speak or one name control more incredible splendor than our merely universe,
love's also there: and being here imprisoned,tortured here love everywhere exploding maims and
blinds
(but surely does not forget,perish, sleep cannot be
photographed,measured;disdains the trivial labelling of punctual brains... -
Who wields a poem huger than the grave?
from only Whom shall time no refuge keep though all the
weird worlds must be opened?