Chapter 60 No.60

Let it pass, the dreary brow,

Let the dismal face go by,

Will it lead me to the grave?

Then I lose it: it will fly:

Can it overlast the nerves?

Can it overlive the eye?

But the other, like a star,

Thro' the channel windeth far

Till it fade and fail and die,

To its Archetype that waits

Clad in light by golden gates,