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Poem

By Humber in a drowsy afternoon,
When for my love long lost alone I pin’d,
My heart itself did sing a saddest tune
For woeful swain I was to be destin’d.
And I in pain then lov’d this timid croon,
That disposition of mine redefin’d
Against the verdure that beside had grown,
And yon bare land where Autumn crops been mown.

Th’ immediate surface expos’d a tiny fish,
And came thereon somewhence his entire train,
That blur’d my eyes, did vision diminish;
In azure ripples solace I did gain.
And every bird that flew out of his niche
Demulc’d mine ears that on the bank had lain.
I think of her and of the friends that me
No more confront and give me company.

My head upon a tufted ground takes rest,
And sees the pallid clouds stoop’d from above
To obfuscate the Sun that veers towards West;
These equalise the woe of futile love,
Thus empathise with youthful mind deprest,
And slothful healing thereto do they serve.
And lo the Hills! whence wafts the coolest breeze
The sole wanderer’s weary limbs can please.

The Lark so tiny that a blob he seems,
For he hath sor’d in unrestrained joy;
And scoffs the pensive man by blithesome whims,
That his gay mind with exultation cloy;
Flutters his wings ‘neath sudden Phoebus’ beams,
That through the pregnant clouds have found their way,
Like beams of Hope enkindle morbid heart,
O lucid Stream, now jocund as thou art!

(Theme--Oblivious)
7th May, 2017

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