Once I was young, and walked a flowery way;
A greenhouse is its own eternity.
Form is a father: when I looked for form,
I found a leaf, and on the leaf a worm.
Whose lips dare speak? I fear the cold Therefore
And pass, unfeeling, at a feeling’s grave:
A child died here. I was that likely child.
Now I must go beyond:
Who else knows where I am? I’m
A fish lurking close to a boat, a child holding the net,
I live through my black tears, a child of light.
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