I

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I

In youth I have known one with whom the Earth

In secret communing heldвБ†вАФas he with it,

In daylight, and in beauty, from his birth:

Whose fervid, flickering torch of life was lit

From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth

A passionate light such for his spirit was fitвБ†вАФ

And yet that spirit knewвБ†вАФnot in the hour

Of its own fervorвБ†вАФwhat had oвАЩer it power.

II

Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought

To a fever by the moonbeam that hangs oвАЩer,

But I will half believe that wild light fraught

With more of sovereignty than ancient lore

Hath ever toldвБ†вАФor is it of a thought

The unembodied essence, and no more

That with a quickening spell doth oвАЩer us pass

As dew of the night-time, oвАЩer the summer grass?

III

Doth oвАЩer us pass, when, as thвАЩ expanding eye

To the loved objectвБ†вАФso the tear to the lid

Will start, which lately slept in apathy?

And yet it need not beвБ†вАФ(that object) hid

From us in lifeвБ†вАФbut commonвБ†вАФwhich doth lie

Each hour before usвБ†вАФbut then only bid

With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken

TвАЩ awake usвБ†вАФвАЩTis a symbol and a tokenвБ†вАФ

IV

Of what in other worlds shall beвБ†вАФand given

In beauty by our God, to those alone

Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven

Drawn by their heartвАЩs passion, and that tone,

That high tone of the spirit which hath striven

Though not with FaithвБ†вАФwith godlinessвБ†вАФwhose throne

With desperate energy вАЩt hath beaten down;

Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown.