174. From ‘The City of Dream’

THE WOOF that I weave not

Thou wearest and weavest,

The Thought I conceive not

Thou darkly conceivest;

The wind and the rain,

The night and the morrow,

The rapture of pain

Fading slowly to sorrow,

The dream and the deed,

The calm and the storm,

The flower and the seed,

Are thy Thought and thy Form.

I die, yet depart not,

I am bound, yet soar free,

Thou art and thou art not,

And ever shalt be!