VI.

'Tis to create, and in creating live

A being more intense that we endow[gl]

With form our fancy, gaining as we give

The life we image, even as I do now—

What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou,

Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse earth,

Invisible but gazing, as I glow—

Mixed with thy spirit, blended with thy birth,

And feeling still with thee in my crushed feelings' dearth.

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