Canto XLII

And every spirit's folded bloom

      Thro' all its intervital gloom

In some long trance should slumber on;

Unconscious of the sliding hour,

      Bare of the body, might it last,

      And silent traces of the past

Be all the colour of the flower:

So then were nothing lost to man;

      So that still garden of the souls

      In many a figured leaf enrolls

The total world since life began:

And love will last as pure and whole

      As when he loved me here in Time,

      And at the spiritual prime

Rewaken with the dawning soul.