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As deeply versed in that infinitude Where man his doom within himself doth find By no strait pedagogy, but divined Through some more massive sense of True and Good, A kind of Inspiration, the soul’s food, Derived from far, and working still behind All conscious reason, till the labouring mind ’Neath that profounder suasion sinks subdued. So Plato’s thought grows cosmic, by its own Illumination led and mystified, And haunted by a voice of purer tone Than reason’s groping motion e’er supplied; The beam refracted by the Forms and shown As coloured light wherein the soul is dyed.

HESEPE, 14th June