INSURRECTION

POOR soul! a captive in a prison-house

Dreaming of pastures, is not more degraded

Through rags and shackles and the insidious louse,

And naked splendour of the body faded,

Than our uneasy spirit, dimly haunted

By vision of some state, some wisdom whole;

Prophetic down unhoped-for distance; taunted;

Dissentient and disquiet guest, the soul.