 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
And beckoned, in the same, the Muses hand;
In that, to further pass, She now Her turned:
I should, in this dim bent, her follow forth.
Well as I might, I sued with tottering pace;
Stiff yet, from Worlds Great Pit, Her sacred steps.
In that, to further pass, She now Her turned:
I should, in this dim bent, her follow forth.
Well as I might, I sued with tottering pace;
Stiff yet, from Worlds Great Pit, Her sacred steps.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |