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To the Youngman--A Prediction

Oh! You’ll be caught 
up in despair,
Tiring impurity, 
appalling aloneness.
The mechanical 
world’s
Swarming cities, 
smelling towns, 
urban’d country.
The world of haste 
and hurry,
Sootheless sit 
and restless recline.
Then nights won’t 
contrast days.
Yes, people will 
wake long nights, 
nevertheless
Not in love! 
And or attend 
the starry skies or
Full moon.
And, albeit sun 
will new day newer 
rise 
Yet, always set 
unseen.
So, on a summer’s 
sunny day
Hunt pro that distant 
dale
Still be hid from 
man’s mean eye,
Where howbeit 
the grasses be 
green, thick and 
bathed of dew,
The roving birds 
nest,
The shepherds dwell.

By the bank of the 
thunderous 
stream
Stroll around, and 
later loll 
Against the old 
mossy giant rock.
Cross-legged light 
a flowery-cigar, 
and gaze
The fir-forests, 
the snow summits, 
the cloudy horizons.
Listen, the sparrows 
tweeting on the 
wild willows,
Dogs barking, 
rooster neighing—
somewhere down 
the vale.
How sweet be it 
beside a small fire
 And with a bowl 
of warm tea!
Or oh sweeter be! 
If ‘companied by 
sweetie.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014




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