The Solitary Reaper

BEHOLD her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and blinds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is over flowing with sound.

No nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travelers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

 

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The Moon

And, like a dying lady lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapp’d in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arose up in the murky east
A white and shapeless mass.

Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,
Abd ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

Cocoon Above

Cocoon above! Cocoon below!
Stealthy Cocoon, why hide you so
What all the world suspect?
An hour, and gay on every tree
Your secret, perched in ecstasy
Defies imprisonment!

An hour in Chrysalis to pass,
Then gay above receding grass
A Butterfly to go!
A moment to interrogate,
Then wiser than a “Surrogate,”
The Universe to know!

Ocean Of Cogitations.

Oh! Your beautiful self,
To me staring at you is
Blinding, but who needs to see
When you can hear everything.

Sight of your ebony suave skin,
Makes the hairs of my
skin stand, the pores open.
Enthrallment defined.

The wee we shared,
Prolifically profound,
Incessantly engraved
in this dark soul of mine
Awkwardly that you,
Ruminate so pure.

The touch of your lips
Upon mine feels like both,
Overwhelmingly intoxicating,
a gentle touch of a
warm winter ray of sun.

That it had to end so soon
I for one, will forever be, in
This ocean of cogitations.