Soul

I see not those false spirits; shall I see My dearest Master, when I reach His throne; Or hear, at least, His awful judgment-word With personal intonation, as I now Hear thee, not see thee, Angel? Hitherto All has been darkness since I left the earth; Shall I remain thus sight bereft all through My penance time? If so, how comes it then That I have hearing still, and taste, and touch, Yet not a glimmer of that princely sense Which binds ideas in one, and makes them live?