The poetry of the earth is never dead. ~John Keats
All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I.
To wash and rinse our souls of their age-old sorrows,
We drained a hundred jugs of wine.
A splendid night it was . . . .
In the clear moonlight amidst the fur and the pine
But at last drunkenness overtook us;
And we laid ourselves down on the empty mountain,
The earth for pillow and the great heaven for coverlet.
Finding each other in heavenly joy amongst earthly pain
Clad in rainbow and riding on the wind,
The ladies of the air descended like flower-rewind;
The fairy lords trooping in, they were thick as hemp-stalks in the fields.
Phoenix birds circled their cars, and panthers played upon harps,-revealed.
Bewilderment filled me, and terror seized on my heart.
I lifted myself in amazement with a rapid start
I woke and found my bed and pillowed—
The radiant world of gossamer was swallowed.
So with all pleasures of earth.
All things pass with the east-flowing water.
I leave you and go—when shall I return with mirth?
Let the white roe feed at will among the green crags, rather,
Let me ride and visit the lovely mountains!
How can I stoop obsequiously and serve the mighty ones!
It stifles my soul. And gives a pull…..
The trees and rocks perform their gentle dance,
draped in beautiful gowns of vines and ferns.
The music is their voice carried on the wind,
their step is to the heartbeat of their mother’s kind-
She who nurtures them gently on her breast.
To keep her belongings sure a-rest………………….