Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow

Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow
 by Robert Duncan
  
 as if it were a scene made-up by the mind,
 that is not mine, but is a made place,
  
 that is mine, it is so near to the heart,
 an eternal pasture folded in all thought
 so that there is a hall therein
  
 that is a made place, created by light
 wherefrom the shadows that are forms fall.
  
 Wherefrom fall all architectures I am
 I say are likenesses of the First Beloved
 whole flowers are flames lit to the Lady.
  
 She it is Queen Under The Hill
 whose hosts are a disturbance of words within words
 that is a field folded.
  
 It is only a dream of the grass blowing
 east against the source of the sun
 in an hour before the sun's gone down
  
 whose secret we see in a children's game
 of ring a round of roses told.
  
 Often I am permitted to return to a meadow
 as if it were a given property of the mind
 that certain bounds hold against chaos,
  
 that is a place of first permission,
 everlasting omen of what is.