Am I thus laid upon the Earth,
to live out some quiet solitude
whereto the wind does not go,
wherefore the sky ne’er fades;
and in this most gentle quietus
of this windless summer morn,
the air tastes light of orchids,
sweetened upon my wanton lips.
There are, too, those lesser souls,
who yet still walk a certain line,
who ne’er have tasted of orchids,
despite breaths so swelled of air;
had they but truly felt of this life,
would they then take to the fold,
that windless away afore them,
‘ere each orchid breath permeates.