Impressions vast and vague flow in...

Impressions vast and vague flow in

From Somewhat that to me is kin.

Shall I assemble them all careless

In the mind's garret or waste dust-bin?

Nay. In solution in the soul's

Own hot equators, frosty poles,

I'll more and more their import cherish,

Their deeps on deeps to my shelving shoals.

O heart, with tentacles in sea,

Like oral-disked anemone,

Taste thou the wine of shoreless oceans,

And feed on food that was meant for thee!