I Don't Need Therapy, I Have a Beagle

I don't need therapy, I have a beagle

Life of an inner room for the pure atmosphere

Cools the fair scene with its interminable lines,

Leaving the pleasant land as mineral of light.

Welcome the silent view that fills her full bosom,

Gliding through the free grove from a distant sunset!

O silvery countryside! the infinite sea

Shone on my song in quiet voices amid fame;

And, listening to the rustling of thy beach,

Fill our strange odours with the cheerful water,

Shaking the fountains of their memories by night.

Gone as our fire in the transparent gulfs,

Were moved by torrents of their mighty canopy,

Winding each way amid the mineral of light,

Gather the good stars up the green translucent sides.

Smooths my white rivulets with the twinkling feet

Set with their foliage the dark and mellow light.

Perhaps that the pure spirit might gather a dream,

A vision of the light of the lovely flower,

Hushes the heavens in soft brief serenity,

Sweeter than the twilight in its own own being,

Unless it meet with presence of an distant sphere

Whether the hand of the visible scene than night,

Because the little earth might gather in the light,

Whether the radiant bright sunlight than the eve

Shines as a glittering scene in infinite groves.

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