A stationary sense... as, I suppose,
I shall have, till my single body grows
Then I shall start to feel the backward pull
Take over, sickening and masterful—
Some say, desired.
And this must be the prime of life... I blink,
As if at pain; for it is pain, to think
Of compensating act and counter—act,
Defeat and counterfeit, makes up, in fact,
My ablest time.