Blurry Meadow



Wake, ye ever blossoming Traveller!

What stories for the nymphs can compell them

To wander in way whither thou walkest?


Footsteps bring a blurry meadow– alas!

But the fire, warming fingers for the stage,

Subsequently in a blunder does loathe, 

Trampling a secret and solemn pathway.


Wells are worked to gurgle special tonics

And never to question, How am I brought

Apart from what I knew, once bedecked all

In the raiment of home? Spirits dissolve,

Yes, before those very eyes– weary world

Casts divine chimes, and sparkling violet

Fairies to keep this thing bethought as life.


The lovely ladies behind veiling trees–

Boughs of white drapery–sob songs and wait

For an afternoon sun, Bourne amid babes

Of virgins grown from glades, gorgeous and lay

Till the unfathomable day vexes

Existence. We're the truth that never breaks.


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