Assuming into God the Church.
But—oh! these nudes of Rodin! I
Drag one more linnet from its perch
That sang to us, and sang a lie.
Did Rodin strip the clothes, and find
A naked truth fast underneath ?
Never! Where lurks the soul and mind ?
What is the body but a sheath?
Did he ply forceps, scalpel, saw,
Tear all the grace of form apart,
Intent to catch some final law
Behind the engine of the heart?
He tried not ; whoso has, has failed.
So, did I pry beneath the robe,
Till stubborn will availed, nor quailed,
Intimate with the naked probe ?
I know the husks to strip ; name, form,
Sensation, then perception, stress
Of nature thither; last, the swarm
Of honey-bees called consciousness.
These change and shape a myriad shapes.
Diverse are these, not one at all.
What gain I if my scalpel scrapes,
Turning before some final wall
Of soul? Not so, nothing is there.
The qualities are all : for this
I stop as I have stopped; intrude
H 57