I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again.

That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.

To behold the day-break! The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.

Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising, freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low.

Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven.