I’d love to stay in vernal realms instead,

Inside this mystic plain and tulip bed—

I’d crawl there now without a head or feet,

Without a lip or teeth its sweets I’d eat,

With thoughts free of affliction from the brain

I’d joke with those up there in heaven’s plain,

Up there, with eyes closed, a whole world I’d view,

Without a hand I’d pick some roses too;

Like birds which in a sea of honey sink,

Job’s fount which cleanses and serves as a drink:

It cleansed Job from his head down to his toes,

Like dawns’ first light, from all his earthly woes.