Strange Fits Of Passion Have I known

Strange fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to tell,
But in the lover's ear alone,
What once to me befell.

When she I loved looked every day
Fresh as a rose in June,
I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath an evening-moon.

Upon the moon I fixed my eye,
All over the wide lea;
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh
Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reached the orchard-plot;
And, as we climbed the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucy's cot
Came near, and nearer still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And all the while my eye I kept
On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopped:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, the bright moon dropped.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
Into a Lover's head!
'O mercy!' to myself I cried,
'If Lucy hould be dead!'


William Wordsworth

Words Of Lie

Another knot on white rope tied,
Ah! With new words she lied.
To hide one, before she told,
Sameness of a paper fold.

Words left at own chosen speed,
And enamored would heed.
Truth she knew in heart deep,
over which never she weep.

Fathomless to herself, why?
Cognizant of truth, she lie.
For words of truth to say,
Stood she powerless in dismay.

Lies fused in charm, she beguiled,
Nurturing a beast wild.
Feeding with her foxy delight,
and sly persuasive might.

Caged in lie bricked wall,
Strong so, never will fall.
Never will the beast die,
And so the words of lie.


Baleshwar Singh