Who grasps the substance? who 'mid shadows strays? He who within some dark-bright wood reclines, 'Twixt sleep and waking, where the needled pines Have cushioned al his couch with soft brown sprays? He notes not how the living water shines, Trembling along the cliff, a flickering haze, Brimming a wine-bright pool, nor lifts his gaze To read the ancient wonders and the signs. Does he possess the actual, or do I, Who paint on air more than his sense receives, The glittering pine-tufts with closed eyes behold, Breathe the strong resinous perfume, see the sky Quiver like azure flame between the leaves, And open unseen gates with key of gold?