Can I Keep From Poesy?
My leaves turn on countless pages,
beyond the lettered readership.
I spot ultramundane, the deep;
- - the poesy that marked ages.
Across the storms, across the waves,
I read the words from a distance
speaking ahigh in all puissance.
Who would keep from the fount that laves?
Lots of pictures cook in my breast,
soothing, while the Orb is rung through.
Dauntlessly, I plough in all blue
for it breathes still at my behest.
But that the sword sway before me,
thews for my sinew it breeds. Come what
valour dare my ink, quaking not?
Can I keep from this, meant to be?
Since justice reigns over places
and sacrifices fledge; the art
of nature is bared too; would that!
Let my leaves slap the foes' faces.
Since the wounded hearts heal, how can
I keep away? If the black walls
fall and troubles addressed upon calls,
for whose fire thence, should I fan?
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