I was born in a remote
country side Anrliore, away
from the highway nigh mountans,
dales and rivolets that play
flutes and pipes as rhyme or hymn
from some far flung friend's blissful dream.
I remember the days,
fished at a small fountain Spring,
fenced by tall Arjun trees, Shrubs
and a long Eel on the String
cought with such thrill, such joyous
thoughts that Adam knew as Ed'n-Bliss;
Eve wasn't there to him condemn
his frivolous, playful deeds:
Then from that foliage's bower
I did glance ,peep a great Dale and Reeds
standing ere me like a Bear
unfolded, still as north star's Stare.
In the evening hours wth friends
and one other lass in prime,
I did climb the dale to hunt
fruits that ripen once a time,
in mid- summer, sighing his
hottest air to welcome, please us.
It was a bliss to know and see
my Hamlet in Grace of Thine,
O!Moon, as if angels white
everywhere, some here with Wine
and some there with Stuff all tall
Never falter, to us enthrall.
O! Rock and dale and mountaiin Boy,
how should I tell thee of my Joy!