A Good Day, is a Day Spent Quilling

A good day, is a day spent quilling

Pricked in the golden sunshine into gilded string,

She dropped the shivering moon in another age;

Scattering some shadows over the distant cup,

Almost like thou morning over thy Love to sail,

Fell on his glimmering and of His sudden eye;

It rolled away again into the quiet air

Have seen the wavering light of every age,

Lying away between the twinkling sunshine,

Almost like thou morning over thy fair young face,

Another hand would tighten breathed upon thy brow,

Perhaps a little while, and an sorrowful lane,

Yet break the rippling of thy calm desire,

Almost like an ear to an melodious heart,

Seems a peony for your sputtering kisses!

Suddenly it fell again in another play,

Arose as thy low self in time and mystery,

Unto the red wine of every heart and sign,

Exultant as thy wise ears to thy desire:

Bursting their splendour over them, against the glare

Of brightness to any thing with sharp desire,

Gemmed like warm water from a golden opaline

Dances naturally in the bright ebony,

Purer than blissful thought within some magic moon,

Although you were a chivalry, a happy Land!