© 2018 by Samantha Mack

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Canto XCIII




I shall not see thee. Dare I say    No spirit ever brake the band    That stays him from the native land Where first he walk'd when claspt in clay?


No visual shade of some one lost,    But he, the Spirit himself, may come    Where all the nerve of sense is numb; Spirit to Spirit, Ghost to Ghost.


O, therefore from thy sightless range    With gods in unconjectured bliss,    O, from the distance of the abyss Of tenfold-complicated change,


Descend, and touch, and enter; hear    The wish too strong for words to name;    That in this blindness of the frame My Ghost may feel that thine is near.


-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto XCIII