The prisoner

"He comes with Western win winds, with evening's wondering airs,
With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars.
Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire,
And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire.

But, first, a hush of peace – a soundless calm descends;
The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends;
Mute music soothes my breast – unuttered harmony,
That I could never dream, 'till earth was lost to me.

Then dawns the invisible; the Unseen its truths reveals;
My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels;
Its wings are almost free – it's home, its harbor found,
Measuring the Gulf, it swoops and dares the final bound.

Oh! dreadful is the check – intense the agony –
When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see;
When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again;
The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain".

          - in "The Prisoner", by Emily Brontë