THE confines of our being are not these <br /> White limbs of sense. Our true selves broader are <br /> And higher than the path of furthest star. <br />Beyond the reach of sense, each hears and sees <br />And feels. The root alone of giant trees <br />5 <br /> Touches the earth; their branches pierce to heaven. <br /> "To-day," "Here," "There," are to the body given; <br />Our spirits watch among the eternities. <br />Dearest, our beings can mingle, and our lips <br /> Kiss off the dark world-sadness from the soul; <br />10 <br /> Our hands can clasp, our eyes return love's gaze, <br />Tho' waste lands moan between, where crimson dips <br /> The westering sun, and tho' wide oceans roll; <br /> Tho' being so far, we breathe in different days.<br /><br />Frederick George Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/across-the-sea-4/
