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V. THE PERFUME OF THE SOUL
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143

V.
THE PERFUME OF THE SOUL

There are seasons when the fragrant soul within
Leaps, as a yearning child within the womb,
And shakes the fleshly fences of its tomb,—
Eager to mount, and rustle, and begin
A life delivered from the fangs of sin
And these slow fleshly fires that do consume:—
And then the sweet soul flings a strange perfume
From limbs that move and struggle, and we win
At times a wild intoxicating sense
Of the large life of deathland,—that shall be
One meadow of sweet ether with no fence,
One imperturbable unbounded sea
Wherein the soul shall revel, winged and free,
Exulting in a magnitude intense.
1871.