XXIII
As deeply versed in that infinitude
Where man his doom within himself doth find
By no strait pedagogy, but divined
Through some more massive sense of True and Good,
A kind of Inspiration, the soul’s food,
Derived from far, and working still behind
All conscious reason, till the labouring mind
’Neath that profounder suasion sinks subdued.
So Plato’s thought grows cosmic, by its own
Illumination led and mystified,
And haunted by a voice of purer tone
Than reason’s groping motion e’er supplied;
The beam refracted by the Forms and shown
As coloured light wherein the soul is dyed.
Hesepe, 14th June