Below my feet are holes in a row
And through them swerves the thread.
My shadow, silently sewn to my sole,
Lays stretched on the road ahead.
So intricate the weave of the path
As her soft bed of hair,
My mind already beneath her lath
Had found her seated there.
And every thing my eyes lit upon
Was laced with golden hue:
The terrace, folding fields, oh! the dawn,
The sunbeams shining you.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 10:55 AM UTC
Below my feet are holes in a row
And through them swerves the thread.
My shadow, silently sewn to my sole,
Lays stretched on the road ahead.
So intricate the weave of the path
As her soft bed of hair,
My mind already beneath her lath
Had found her seated there.
And every thing my eyes lit upon
Was laced with golden hue:
The terrace, folding fields, oh! the dawn,
The sunbeams shining you.