The Spirit lasts—but in what mode—

The Spirit lasts — but in what mode —

Below, the Body speaks,

But as the Spirit furnishes —

Apart, it never talks —

The Music in the Violin

Does not emerge alone

But Arm in Arm with Touch, yet Touch

Alone — is not a Tune —

The Spirit lurks within the Flesh

Like Tides within the Sea

That make the Water live, estranged

What would the Either be?

Does that know — now — or does it cease —

That which to this is done,

Resuming at a mutual date

With every future one?

Instinct pursues the Adamant,

Exacting this Reply —

Adversity if it may be, or

Wild Prosperity,

The Rumor's Gate was shut so tight

Before my Mind was sown,

Not even a Prognostic's Push

Could make a Dent thereon —