Ten heads and twenty hearts! so that this me, <br />Having more room and verge, and striking less <br />The cage that galls us into consciousness, <br />Might drown the rings and ripples of to be <br />In the smooth deep of being: plenary <br />Round hours; great days, as if two days should press <br />Together, and their wine-press'd night accresce <br />The next night to so dead a parody <br />Of death as cures such living: of these ordain <br />My years; of those large years grant me not seven, <br />Nor seventy, no, nor only seventy sevens! <br />And then, perhaps, I might stand well in even <br />This rain of things; down-rain, up-rain, side-rain; <br />This rain from Earth and Ocean, air and heaven, <br />And from the Heaven within the Heaven of Heavens.<br /><br />Sydney Thompson Dobell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/perhaps-8/
