In the late evening, when the house is still, For an intense instant, I lift my clean soul out of the soiled garments of mortality. No sooner is it free to rise than it bends back earthward And touches mortal life with hands like the hands that troubled the waters of Bethesda. So this incorruptible touches the corrupt; This immortal cools with a touch The beaded forehead of mortality. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RIDDLE: A STAR by MOTHER GOOSE THE WOLD WAGGON by WILLIAM BARNES SONG IN THE NIGHT by OTTO JULIUS BIERBAUM |