With stammering lips and insufficient sound <br />I strive and struggle to deliver right <br />That music of my nature, day and night <br />With dream and thought and feeling interwound <br />And inly answering all the senses round <br />With octaves of a mystic depth and height <br />Which step out grandly to the infinite <br />From the dark edges of the sensual ground. <br />This song of soul I struggle to outbear <br />Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole, <br />And utter all myself into the air: <br />But if I did it,--as the thunder-roll <br />Breaks its own cloud, my flesh would perish there, <br />Before that dread apocalypse of soul.<br /><br />Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-soul-s-expression-2/
