My Soliloquy

Ephemeral the distances are, I know,

I breathe in the quite air, though.

Thoughts unruly, feelings wild have far to go,

The hardest of the things that ever can grow.

For oft, when over my couch I lie,

The sinking heart sings melancholy strain.

You flash upon that inward eye,

And drench me with love and pain.

The tickling clock in the wall, hanging;

The serene dense night murmuring.

Archives my brooding far and wide,

O'er the shores like the rushing tides.