Many a house of life Hath held me—seeking ever him who wrought These prisons of the senses, sorrow fraught; Love was my senseless strife. But now, Thou builder of this tabernacle—Thou! I know thee! Never shalt thou build again These walls of pain, Nor raise the roof-tree of deceits, nor lay Fresh rafters on the clay; Broken thy house is, and the ridge pole spilt! Delusion fashioned it! Safe pass I thence—deliverance to obtain.
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