Not with vain tears, when we're beyond the sun,
We'll beat on the substantial doors, nor tread Those dusty high-roads of the aimless
Plaintive for Earth; but rather turn and
Down some close-covered by-way of the air,
Some low sweet alley between wind and wind,
Stoop under faint gleams, thread the shadows,
Some whispering ghost-forgotten nook, and
Spend in pure converse our eternal day;
Think each in each, immediately wise;
Learn all we lacked before; hear, know, and say What this tumultuous body now denies;
And feel, who have laid our groping hands away;
And see, no longer blinded by our eyes.
Sonnet (Suggested by some of the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research)
