It's not that we want to be sovereign here,
feeling like a quiet novitiate
in a garden which has become temple
of freedom to be myself by myself,
I give place to plenty already, endure
the bullying wasp, the pestering flies,
little things that crawl across a page, and
small spiders legging forest of wrist-hairs.
Birds have their nests, bumble-bees their dark holes,
and since I sleep indoors, it is more theirs,
the blackbirds' and the sparrows and the bees.
I, a visitor on home holiday,
every time I come to sit here in sun-bliss
or, cloud-lit, meditate on apple boughs.
...
YOU ARE READING
Bare Shouldered
Poesía"The difference of high Sensations with and without knowledge appears to me this - in the latter case we are falling continually ten thousand fathoms deep and being blown up again without wings and with all [the] horror of a bare shouldered Creature...
