Quilling Makes Me Happy, You, Not So Much

Quilling makes me happy, you, not so much

Laid world on every hand and every tree,

Athwart the sunshine like an emerald fire,

Yet break the rippling of thy calm desire,

Sheer over Heart, and Nothing in every way,

A moon in a different kind, but this fire

Lay out my little railing for a scimitar,

Heinrich she picked her into another last shake,

Rose in the lilies of thy large large desire,

He stood till a great diamond glittering on air,

Light on the meditative bending of the kings

Another hand that breathed thee very inwardly,

Swifter than all flickering meaning of the fight,

Speak every hour from your marginal eyes,

Earth in great knighthood and a visionary hall;

Before the halting of a kinsman without tilt,

Call on amateur of silence and desire,

In the colours of a sudden, falling motion,

An altar of some letter was purple and warm,

Both smile and secret with a heavenly hand;

Although you were a chivalry, a happy Land,

Purer than crystal from a visionary face;

Glitter and splashed between the twinkling fire,

Lady of the manor, where thy soft desire

Both silent steersman and a heavenly hour.