The Poet’s Dream

On a Poet’s lips I slept

Dreaming like a love adept

In the sound his breathing kept,

Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses,

But feeds on the aerial kisses

Of shades that haunt Thought ‘s wildernesses.

He will watch from dawn to gloom

The lake reflected sun illume

The yellow bees in the ivy bloom,

Nor heed nor see what things they be

But from these create he can

Forms more real than living Man,

Nurslings of Immortality!

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Infant

 

Life is reflection of imputation.   Cycle begins with our birth and ends with our death….                    Journey  of crying baby  to a old….                                           Think of a human infant who does not really know or comprehend anything,               it’s just previous sack of meet that occasionally moves around him…..                                                   The brain search for patterns     “the systematic patterns” to learn things…..                                  These patterns feed in us as time passes.Our journey begins of infant  child!!!