Awe

a poem, from the collection which could be called Emotional, if it wanted to

I spring and have already sprung,

  these fair waters past rosy lips;

singing, speaking, spoken, and sung —

  those tarnished made miraculous.


In misery there are but few,

 in joy, with delight, many more

figures in which I cast my hue

 upon the soul and through its door. 


I to usurp and change your ways, 
 
 you! yet have not asked me inside, 

but some mysterious force says:
 
 "I with them? Yes, we shall abide!" 

***
To understand this ravishment —

 to know these waters as your own;

remains to be a tale told once,

 I to ne’er depart, remain: thine home. 

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