ABSTRACT
Ay, for the soul is better than its frame, The spirit than its temple. What's the brow, Or the eye's lustre, or the step of air, Or color, but the beautiful links that chain The mind from its rare element? There lies A talisman in intellect which yields Celestial music, when the master hand Touches it cunningly. It sleeps beneath The outward semblance, and to common sight Is an invisible and hidden thing; But when the lip is faded, and the cheek
Robbed of its daintiness, and when the form Witches the sense no more, and human love Falters in its idolatry, this spell Will hold its strength unbroken, and go on Stealing anew the affections.
