‘List, stranger, list, mine is an human form,
Like that thou wearest—touch me—shrink not now!
My hand thou feel’st is not a ghost’s, but warm _435
With human blood.—’Twas many years ago,
Since first my thirsting soul aspired to know
The secrets of this wondrous world, when deep
My heart was pierced with sympathy, for woe
Which could not be mine own, and thought did keep, _440
In dream, unnatural watch beside an infant’s sleep.
Like that thou wearest—touch me—shrink not now!
My hand thou feel’st is not a ghost’s, but warm _435
With human blood.—’Twas many years ago,
Since first my thirsting soul aspired to know
The secrets of this wondrous world, when deep
My heart was pierced with sympathy, for woe
Which could not be mine own, and thought did keep, _440
In dream, unnatural watch beside an infant’s sleep.