No More Learning

This the finest air drinking,
With           out-swelled like goblets,
Lacking future, lacking remembrances,
Thus do I sit here, ye
Friendly damsels dearly loved,
And look at the palm-tree there,
How it, to a dance-girl, like,
Doth bow and bend and on its hunches bob,
—One doth it too, when one view'th it long!