In the late evening, when the house is still, For an intense instant, I lift my clean soul out of the soiled garments of mortality. No sooner is it free to rise than it bends back earthward And touches mortal life with hands like the hands that troubled the waters of Bethesda. So this incorruptible touches the corrupt; This immortal cools with a touch The beaded forehead of mortality. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GRANDMITHER, THINK NOT I FORGET by WILLA SIBERT CATHER THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 10. THE PORTRAIT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI BALLADE OF EGREGIOUSNESS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE VETERAN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |