Cii

I found, one must abate One's scorn of the soul's casing, distinct from the soul's self-- Which is the centre-drop: whereas the pride in pelf, The lust to seem the thing it cannot be, the greed For praise, and all the rest seen outside,--these indeed Are the hard polished cold crystal environment Of those strange orbs unearthed i' the Druid temple, meant For divination (so the learned please to think) Wherein you may admire one dewdrop roll and wink, All unaffected by--quite alien to--what sealed And saved it long ago: though how it got congealed I shall not give a guess, nor how, by power occult, The solid surface-shield was outcome and result Of simple dew at work to save itself amid The unwatery force around; protected thus, dew slid Safe through all opposites, impatient to absorb Its spot of life, and last forever in the orb We, now, from hand to hand pass with impunity.