Sep 142011
 
When I was well the world did seem
Alive with myriad tempting mysteries--
Wireless winds that moved each trembling tree
Moved what spirit moved in me;
The light that lifted flowers from the seed
Bade me bloom and brighten in my new need.

But when I was ill the world did grow
Older and dimmer each diminishing hour;
Weaker, darklier waned the woodland powers
And crumpled came even the softest flower
To this cheek that felt it not,
This tear-dead eye that saw all ill
            become one sizeless blot.

Now recovered and alienate in my taut boat,
I measure the world from within my moat,
A magic circle of moveless seas
Unfrozen and supple, but leadenly still;
Wind and light move, but move not me;
For I, I am well, but the world is ill.


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