WITH stammering lips and insufficient sound br I strive and struggle to deliver right br That music of my nature, day and night br With dream and thought and feeling interwound br And inly answering all the senses round br With octaves of a mystic depth and height br Which step out grandly to the infinite br From the dark edges of the sensual ground. br This song of soul I struggle to outbear br Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole, br And utter all myself into the air: br But if I did it,--as the thunder-roll br Breaks its own cloud, my flesh would perish there, br Before that dread apocalypse of soul.