Thy hand is like music, in it I again
Passing a wild fear and a bitter pain
Weird things more weird than the sense of Seve
All things stare mystery at my mind,
But thy hand most, to oblivion conn'd
Thrilled with a mute life not all defined,
What is thy hand in itself beyond
The scope of sense where the heart is fond,
The realm of thought where the soul is blind?