November 7, 2013

Between Day and Day




A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; 
I’ve thought of all by turns, and still I lie         
Sleepless; and soon the small birds’ melodies
Must hear, first utter’d from my orchard trees,
And the first cuckoo’s melancholy cry.
Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay,
And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:         
So do not let me wear to-night away:
Without Thee what is all the morning’s wealth?
Come, blesséd barrier between day and day,
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!


William Wordsworth (1770–1850)

Picture Source: marie claire Maison

Bette .
 

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