Of All The Souls
Of all the souls that stand create
I have elected one.
When sense from spirit files away
And subterfuge is done;
When that which is and that which was
Apart, intrinsic, stand,
And this brief tragedy of flesh
Is sifted like a sand;
When figures show their royal front
And mists are carved away,–
Behold the atom I preferred
To all the lists of clay!