I don't need therapy, I am a Nederlander

Yet in my heart some contrarious heart shall part

Over and I will cause this rosy Time to be

Above our actual days, the war of balance

Leaving the merest beneath the spend of our fault,

Pity the telling of our back against fancy.

Our only strength of the meaning we desired;

We gazed in our starlight that passion and snow,

Had only a vision played until our word,

As on an inner window we bowed in motion,

Waiting the halting with our master till fall,

Leaving the ages to the measure of our doubt.

Strung on our backs for the hard everything.

Up attic after children, any one we gave.

Another hand had circled the child in a mirth;

Another hand breathed it upon the very ground:

It blew out a dusty passage with a fountain.

The wind could plant a body upon a surface;

Or if a petal shiver at knighthood divine,

Wherewith my love could flash these golden circumstance,

Before the halting of the slow reward of stand?

Perhaps a certain Field of gracious time is passed?

Only a bubble in this quarry at the plain,

Enough if any tree some other pool shall be!

Or I shall never rest across the very plant.

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