The world has worthy ample,
No wealth to exalt in me;
Best has done my progenitor;
Wordsworth, Coleridge and Moore.
They hear the giggle from the jet,
Daffodils dance in the heart;
And euphonic carol of cuckoo in spring;
Blinking stars and floating fog.
And they note the whisper of twist,
Rain of roses at noon and night;
And prowling from heaven to hive;
The world is only light and life.
But, I heed the eyes swollen with pain;
Submerged valley in the malignant rain;
And the clouds mask the painted sky;
Soon the utopia spin to dusky.
And I mark the thirsting sods,
Widow boughs with fried bud;
I get the roar of the deep;
And life immure in Her grip.
Though differ in tongues very the taste,
Crow louds, weighing himself the best.
But, How can I flatter the girl of angle,
Watching her tender neck, apron tie???