Page 352

                               7.

Of the terrible question of appearances,
Of the doubts, the uncertainties after all,
That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations
    after all,
That may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful 
    fable only,
May-be the things I percieve--the animals, plants,
    men, hills, shining and flowing waters,

Page 353

The skies of day and night--colors, densities, forms
    --May-be these are, (as doubtless they are,) only
    apparitions, and the real something has yet to be
    known,
(How often they dart out of themselves, as if to con-
    found me and mock me!
How often I think neither I know, nor any man
    knows, aught of them;)
May-be they only seem to me what they are, (as
    doubtless they indeed but seem,) as from my
    present point of view--And might prove, (as of
    course they would,) naught of what they appear,
    or naught any how, from entirely changed points
    of view;
To me, these, and the like of these, are curiously
    answered by my lovers, my dear friends;
When he whom I love travels with me, or sits a long 
    while holding me by the hand,
When the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that
    words and reason hold not, surround us and
    pervade us,
Then I am charged with untold and untellable wis-
    dom--I am silent--I require nothing further,
I cannot answer the question of appearances, or that
    of identity beyond the grave,
But I walk or sit indifferent--I am satisfied,
He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me.