And utter all myself into the air:

Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole,

And inly answering all the九九藏書 senses round

With stammering lips and insufficient sound

Before that dread apocalypse of soul.

That music of my nature, day and night

With octaves of a mystic depth and 九九藏書height

Which step out grandly to the infinite

But if I did it,--as the thunder-roll

Breaks its own cloud, my fleｒｅａｄ•9９cｓw•coｍsh would perish there,

I strive and struggle to deliver right

With d九_九_藏_書ream and thought and feeling interwound

This song of soul I struggle to outbear

From the dark edges of the sensual ground.