THE KASÎDAH III, 47, 62

How every high heroic Thought
 that longed to breathe empyrean air,
Failed of its feathers, fell to earth,
 and perisht of a sheer despair;

How, dower’d with heritage of brain,
 whose might has split the solar ray,
His rest is grossest coarsest earth,
 a crown of gold on brow of clay;

This House whose frame be flesh and bone,
 mortar’d with blood and faced with skin,
The home of sickness, dolours, age;
 unclean without, impure within:

Sans ray to cheer its inner gloom,
 the chambers haunted by the Ghost,
Darkness his name, a cold dumb Shade
 stronger than all the heav’nly host.