To Sickness

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
When one is sick
The world is thick;
Thick with burning light
Which burns bright
As the burning sun is bright;
A hardness there
As sound in the air
All thunders, is thunders
In the brightening air
The world is both heavy and light
And thick, both the day and night
You could cut it with a knife;
If a knife you could lift -
What strife!
All of that movement about
Each motion a ringing shout!
Stop, for the heavens stop
Tell me what you're moving about
Best -- now rest, be still
I think, you are not also ill;
Let me shade my eyes
And be wise
The thin world forbade
Sensuous pride
Thin of sense, narrow, not wide
Thin like an arrow
It must pierce and divide
Heavy sense is dull
The head with it is full
But the heart burns
A different flame
Learns words not given name
Not yet, past shock
And awe all the same
Patience names the state
Where we lie in wait
Stop! Wait to light the wick--
When one is sick
The world is thick.

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