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.