Explore "Gustav Richter" by Edgar Lee Masters on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
After a long day of work in my hot-houses / Sleep was sweet, but if you sleep on your left side / Your dreams may be abruptly ended.
I was among my flowers where someone / Seemed to be raising them on trial, / As if after-while to be transplanted / To a larger garden of freer air.
And I was disembodied vision / Amid a light, as it were the sun / Had floated in and touched the roof of glass / Like a toy balloon and softly bursted, / And etherealized in golden air.
And all was silence, except the splendor / Was immanent with thought as clear / As a speaking voice, and I, as thought, / Could hear a Presence think as he walked / Between the boxes pinching off leaves, / Looking for bugs and noting values, / With an eye that saw it all: --
"Homer, oh yes! Pericles, good.
Caesar Borgia, what shall be done with it?
Dante, too much manure, perhaps.
Napoleon, leave him awhile as yet.
Shelley, more soil. Shakespeare, needs spraying -- "
Clouds, eh! --