You are not wrong, who deem
They flash upon that inward eye
For oft, when on my couch I lie
behind the pumps, and on it
Of a surf-tormented shore,
a big hirsute begonia.
He said it for himself. I see him there
Taste them and try:
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
You are not wrong, who deem
They flash upon that inward eye
For oft, when on my couch I lie
behind the pumps, and on it
Of a surf-tormented shore,
a big hirsute begonia.
He said it for himself. I see him there
Taste them and try:
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.