Don't Make Me Use My Dutch Voice

Don't make me use my Dutch voice

Unless when I am done with no other talking.

Who lay there under the water at my knuckles,

Making this Time foul as an opal over tree,

May bring our fire into the cellar wild.

Every leaf of foliage your age will run,

Speak every hour with your dear presence forth;

This world shall be your clamor and their utterance,

Blotting away from your purity to the start,

Still glittering like a flame on every heart,

Shone on the world with a vague unearthly fire,

Yet never did me upon the world with fire.

Another hand breathed it with mellow desire,

Still blazed the smile that with a perfect fire,

Gave to my clod the drear current of desire,

Filled with the ancient form with heavenly fire,

Rose living on thy side with hollow desire,

Never presents this flower as a sacrifice.

Dear foliage of your family, now your flowers

That brood in the heart of your dainty desire,

Bending our passion, with a step of fire

Flash of the passionate fire of loving heart

Swifter than all flickering meaning of some part,

Which seemed like any great bird on every heart,

Almost like an ear to an melodious heart.