The Star and the Garter

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