97
Too quickly stripping off a tatter'd cloak,
May leave a treasure hidden in their rags,
And thus a Soul, too swiftly separate
From earthly things, missing her starry road,
Seeks her late lodging in a wild regret
Free of the Earth, yet all unfit for Heaven
And vainly strives to enter it again.
Such Spirits haunt the world with wandering lights,
Or cryings from a solitary place.
But the True Soul, when called, will pass serene,
Calmly, augustly, from her late abode,
And, like a dew-drop, upward to the Sun,
Exhale, aspire to Him who bade it fall.
Theonöe.(Musingly):
And, yet, there have been noble suicides!
The lotus crown'd divine Antinoüs,
That last-born lamb in the starry flocks of Heaven.
Did he not well? Vicarious sufferer,
