I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
This line and the preceding bare a close resemblance to classic  Heraclitian  thought: 
 The way up and the way down is one and the same 
 (Fragment 69 is where this particular line may be found) 
 What these lines seem to suggest is the unintelligibility of the world, which was a common understanding of Heraclitus’s Flux Doctrine, the belief in a  perpetually changing world  — you can’t be steady and shake at the same time, or shake and be steady at the same time either. 
 
 
 To “fall away” can be understood in more than one sense: something can cease to be when it “falls away,” or something can “fall away” from a particular subject, such as a branch falling away from a tree. 
 If we use “fall away” in the first sense, something that is “always” cannot “fall away,” it is by definition only capable of doing one or the other things, that is, always being or not always being. Another Heraclitian gibberish type statement. 
 In the second sense, something that “falls away” is no longer near, it is going “away.” Something can’t be near and away simultaneously, it is one or the other. 
 Whenever the speaker does anything above simple action (such as hearing, walking, going up the staircase), such as everything of the preceding lines, we get this befuddled mess of thoughts.
The Waking