Fr370A

Within my Garden, rides
a Bird
Opon a single Wheel –
Whose spokes a dizzy music
make
As ′twere a travelling Mill –He never stops, but slackens
Above the Ripest Rose –
Partakes without alighting
And praises as he goes,

Till every spice is tasted –
And then his ⁺Fairy Gig ↑↑+ Microscopic Gig ↓↓
Reels in remoter atmospheres –
And I rejoin my Dog,

And He and I, perplex us
If positive, ′twere we –
Or bore the Garden in the Brain
This Curiosity –

But He, the best Logician,
Refers my ⁺clumsy eye – ⁺duller –
To just vibrating Blossoms!
An exquisite Reply!

Is Bliss then, such Abyss –

I must not put my foot amiss

For fear I spoil my shoe?

I’d rather suit my foot

Than save my Boot –

For yet to buy another Pair

Is possible, <at>

At any store –

But Bliss, is sold just once.

The Patent lost

None buy it any more –

Say, Foot, decide the point!

The Lady cross, or not?

Verdict for Boot!

October 7, 2022

marta