I listen to you, here and now, and I awaken to some thing ?... The wind trembles. The morning rises. The heat begins. I feel my cheeks redden. My conscious eyes dilate. Ecstasy risses in me, spreads, goes forth, and with a blind cackle resounding, the living flywheel in me intensifies...

If I were to own this countryside
As far as a man in a day could come,
And the tyes were mine for giving or letting,---
Wingle Tye and Margaretting
Tye, - and Skreens, Gooshays, and Cockerells,
Shellow, Rochetts, Bandish, and Pickerells,
Martins, Lambkins, and Lillyputs,
Their copes, ponds, roads, and ruts,
Fields where plough-horses steam and plovers
Filling and whimper, hedges that lovers
Love, and orchards, shrubberies, walls
Where the sun untroubled by north wind falls,
And single trees where the thrush sings well
His proverbs untranslatable,
I would give them all to my son or  ?...
If he would let me any one
For a song, a blackbird's song, at dawn.
He should have no more, till on my lawn
Never a one was left, because I
Had shot them to put them into a pie, -
His blackbirds, every one,
and I was left old and alone.

Then unless I could pay, for rent , a song
As sweet as a blackbird's, and as long -
No more - he should have the house, not I;
Margaretting or Wingle Tye,
Or it might be Skreens, Gooshays, or Cockerells,
Shellow, Rochetts, Bandish, or Pickerells,
Martins, Lambkins, or Lillypust,
Should be his till the cart tracks had no ruts.

Do you understand ?
I am not sure...
If you do, please let me know.

Thanks...