FLESH, I have knocked at many a dusty door, <br />Gone down full many a midnight lane, <br />Probed in old walls and felt along the floor, <br />Pressed in blind hope the lighted window-pane, <br />But useless all, though sometimes when the moon <br />Was full in heaven and the sea was full, <br />Along my body's alleys came a tune <br />Played in the tavern by the Beautiful. <br />Then for an instant I have felt at point <br />To find and seize her, whosoe'er she be, <br />Whether some saint whose glory doth anoint <br />Those whom she loves, or but a part of me, <br />Or something that the things not understood <br />Make for their uses out of flesh and blood.<br /><br />John Masefield<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-3/
