A long two-point'd sn'tongu'd slidin' thru a tree
Toward heaven
A ferment capture still,
there's a laugh
Oh!
Do I feel?
Bethse(e)d...
Ah &
A'then
there may be 2
or 3...
(20)
Apples
I didn't pick upon some bough?
(Calvados...
I'm drinkin'
Calvados
with nice cider sidearms)
But am I
bless'd &
&
Essence of wakesleep
is on the a'night,
The scent of houris: I am drownin' of'.
I cannot rub the blame a'
from mine slight
I got from looking thru -
a pain;
twas nigh-
I'm bib'd tre mournin' from the drinking true
(I know yo' feel it;
I know you do)
'n'held agast a'worl'o'
hoary grass.
I moult'd, an'
I let it fall and break.
But Ph's Wfe was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What f' my vis'
was about to make.
De Still
apples appear and disappear,
Stem'ed and breast'd end,
And every thrust o' Mars a'showing clear.
My outstep bridge not only keeps point break,
It keeps the pleasure o' a futuresound.
I feel the serpent
Bow & Bend
& I
Inner keep
hearin from a stellar bring -
A rumblin' sound
Of load on load
of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of virgin-picking:
I am overtired
Of the "great" harvest I myself desired.
There was'ten thousand 9thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
Aquila
could say whether it's like his
Lone perch'd rest
as I describe its comin'on,
Or just some
The Lord Blessed.
