III

Now, what is it makes pulsate the robe?
Why tremble the sprays? What life o'erbrims
The body,--the house, no eye can probe,--
Divined as, beneath a robe, the limbs?


IV

And there again! But my heart may guess
Who tripped behind; and she sang perhaps:
So, the old wall throbbed, and its life's excess
Died out and away in the leafy wraps.


V

Wall upon wall are between us: life
And song should away from heart to heart.
I--prison-bird, with a ruddy strife
At breast, and a lip whence storm-notes start--


VI

Hold on, hope hard in the subtle thing
That's spirit: though cloistered fast, soar free;