As a blue coin flipping slowly in the air.
If only my thought were as pure
As the track to the stream of the lumbering bear,
Or my deeds as strong as cords of pine,
My constitution cool as wine,
My yearning for wisdom blue as dawn,
Then I would feel bursting forth in eglantine,
In rivers, cloud-streams and in oak
A single light, a bright vitality
Of engines in each cell, of vortexes
That open up each creature past finality,
So that a roaming light
Would sweetly through this carapace
Fan the fragments of its rays
And strengthen every stolid face.