Surface Living
Surface living;
Delving with thought
Shallow inclined; no further
A beetle's truth-quester
One inch, mould-wrought!
The infinite
And what, behind
Its night-hung veil, bespangled
For souls of men have wrangled
Light's, dark's winged grind
A mystery
Left. With relief!
Which strain, high, deep prying mind's
But exceeded by those finds;
Mail's o'ercharged grief!
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