My love and me in a library,
and there we sat for some time.
Till Wordsworth wrote a whole new verse,
to mark our extravagant esctasy.
...
Gained have i nothing, loser as i am;
At the end of the day, i pray; where do i stand!
Nothing yet comes to my witty wit
Nothing yet comes along the path so split,
...
Walking all along quiet alone
fierce remnants of the past
thrusted hard leaving me atlast
scattered all over the stone
...
My head bows before thee and none else,
My soul reaches out for your assistance,
...
Look, O! Please do have a look at the distant space,
Do you see something? Or your eyes just pretend
...
Fair enough! if I call you my dreams
Fairer more if I alone love you there
For my insight though often it gleams
But could never ever someone else prepare
...
Of kind the fostered heir lingers,
Of dismay, they let rot his dearth,
...
Wait O’ time,
For I have not yet lived in you,
...
It’s not all that you see,
It’s not all, what your eyes meet,
...