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