Ode On Dust

Had a plunderer I, nay thither I thus, how much life is wasted off as if fairly, pace upon pace once more pace upon pace never odds, this occasions a bliss is hither, a bliss is folly, how I hope to have striven more, how thus air, how fun and fair, how lovely is dream to dream and dream this wave. What these things serve a contemporary horizon?, what rises? and what is stir hither?, no, like wind it is yet known nor enlightened anon, all jobs done let like mirrages flown thither, what a service of immemorial poise?, what an irony of a sort freedom?, what a dream?, I spend, I am an eye witness thus those. Now, it matters for it matters counts, tis necessary, supposing it is thus, to meet the limit of the normal airs, still it is how to govern a life of surfs, how it is right to fill room with hope, a gift of this wave and thus a gift of a wave, once more there is compromise.