Sweeter than is cow-milk in the mouth of the Fulani boy

Are your thoughts in my head, whose richness enriches my brain –

And that brain being rich, richer than crops in April’s rain,

Does invent your sweet company, and that I as freely enjoy.

Oh look how these fancies lend me light in dark,

Like torchfires, and free my perilous way!

Why, in the nipping rain yet am I warm and gay,

But straight fall in fits once from my fancies fall back!

Drunkards best with drink are poisoned, and thinker with thoughts;

So I a fool who subsist on my own fallacies,

Right home in my hole, but old ruling in palaces,

When to my dismal station I am thus back brought –

Am poisoned with this: that mad thoughts that do not rush to deed,

Return madder in, and on the lean thinker richly fat and feed!


138 Total Views 2 Views Today

By Sydney Chesterfield on April 28, 2016 · Posted in Letters To Shindara by E.R. Chesterfield, Literary, Poetry

Sorry, comments are closed on this post.