In tortured spirit
Twisting wires
Ever grieved those mystic spires
Soma, not the whole but part
Sarx, not the soul but heart
A spirit left in steady drain
The mental torch, the mental strain
The honoured moment, wait upon
The frenzied hand to cast the stone
And these of all the Pneuma held
It grasps and clings and untrained dwells…
Alone
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