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