
Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise
From outward things, whate’er you may believe.
There is an inmost centre in us all,
Where truth abides in fulness; and around,
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in.
This perfect, clear perception — which is truth.
A baffling and perverting carnal mesh
Binds it, and makes all error: and to know
Rather consists in opening out a way
Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape,
Than in effecting entry for a light
Supposed to be without.
–from “Paracelsus” by Robert Browning (May 7, 1812 – December 12, 1889) was an English poet and playwright whose mastery of the dramatic monologue made him one of the foremost Victorian poets. Wikipedia This poem is the basis for the name of the Prosperos class “Releasing the Hidden Splendour”.