505
I would not painta picture
I'd rather be the One
Its bright impossibility
To dwelldeliciouson
And wonder how the fingers feel
Whose rarecelestialstir
Evokes so sweet a Torment
Such sumptuousDespair
I would not talk, like Cornets
I'd rather be the One
Raised softly to the Ceilings
And out, and easy on
Through Villages of Ether
Myself endued Balloon
By but a lip of Metal
The pier to my Pontoon
Nor would I be a Poet
It's finerown the Ear
Enamoredimpotentcontent
The License to revere,
A privilege so awful
What would the Dower be,
Had I the Art to stun myself
With Bolts of Melody!