Article: Changeth
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Changeth
Indeed I'm weak for I blasted by ecstasy,
vailed lids I have and death bent.
Idle am I? Tenables dirt?
Am I real jump drossy?
The mighty sun at last took me away from field,
he post'd above mine pole,
he uplift'd my beaver that,
he could say o'ercrows just mine conceit
My face, the sun spoke was a nickname,
for it's milch that he said,
that mine reality's face was retrograde
of what his soul saw that's idle.
He gave a rose button to mine hand,
presently after he, mine God unfold himself.
Repair to dead end of when I forgot me,
to tape the love out of time to another.
The flow'r button grew with mine hands chariest,
and fin'lly, able to see,<...
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