Fly forth my waking soul to find that sphere
Beyond the vision of the farthest star
Where voices on the wind chant high and clear
A song more rich than songs of mortals are.
Receive that music, and forget the earth
Where dead in life my sleeping body lies
Deaf, paralysed, dumb, blind since mortal birth
Lent fleeting power to ears, hands, lips and eyes .
Yet sing, for such captivity is blest
When lovers meet who have been parted long :
Fly home, my soul, to welcome your dear guest
With some faint echo of the perfect song .
Till death enlarge our joy, content to rest
Where those arms circle, where those lips are pressed.
23 August 1950