The soul has moments of Escape
When bursting all the doors
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings upon the Hours,

As do the Bee delirious borne
Long Dungeoned from his Rose
Touch Liberty then know no more,
But Noon, and Paradise

The Soul’s retaken moments
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the Song,

The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue