The Soul has Bandaged moments When too appalled to stir She feels some ghastly Fright come up And stop to look at her – Salute her – with long fingers – Caress her freezing hair – Sip, Goblin, from the very lips The Lover hovered o'er; Unworthy, that a thought so mean Accost a Theme so fair – 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 –