Chapter III

One moment throbs the hearing, yearns the sight.
But tho' not far, yet strangely hid--the way,
And our sense slow; nor long for us delay
The guides their flight!
The breath goes by; the word, the light, elude;
And we stay wondering. But there comes an hour
Of fitness perfect and unfettered mood,
When splits her husk the finer sense with power,
And--yon their palm-trees tower!