When you feel too utterly almost quite,
The sunflowers love, yet love not them!
Oh, weird is the feeling of thoughtsome doubt
When candles, and lamps, and gas are out,
And burglarious Philistines prowl about,
Chill is the air at four a.m.!
Oh, mystic the eyelids all drowsy grown!
Oh, fainting of lilies with broken stem!
Oh, twitching of limbs that are scarce your own,
The sunflowers love, yet love not them!