⁠For here the man is more and more;
⁠But he forgets the days before
God shut the doorways of his head.

The days have vanish'd, tone and tint,
⁠And yet perhaps the hoarding sense
⁠Gives out at times (he knows not whence)
A little flash, a mystic hint;

And in the long harmonious years
⁠(If Death so taste Lethean springs),
⁠May some dim touch of earthly things
Surprise thee ranging with thy peers.

If such a dreamy touch should fall,
⁠O turn thee round, resolve the doubt,
⁠My guardian angel will speak out
In that high place, and tell thee all.