<SPAN name="THE_HIGHER_SENSUALISM"></SPAN>THE HIGHER SENSUALISM.<br/>
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There's a church by a lake in Italy<br/>
Stands white on a hill against the sky?<br/>
And a path of immemorial cobbles<br/>
Leads up and up, where the pilgrim hobbles<br/>
Past a score or so of neat reposories,<br/>
Where you stop and breathe and tell your rosaries<br/>
To the shrined terra-cotta mannikins,<br/>
That expound with the liveliest quirks and grins<br/>
Known texts of Scripture. But no long stay<br/>
Should the pilgrim make upon his way;<br/>
But as means to the end these shrines stand here<br/>
To guide to something holier,<br/>
The church on the hilltop.<br/>
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<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Your heaven's so,</span><br/>
With a path leading up to it past a row<br/>
Of votary Priapulids;<br/>
At each you pause and tell your beads<br/>
Along the quintuple strings of sense:<br/>
Then on, to face Heaven's eminence,<br/>
New stimulated, new inspired.<br/>
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