by Marnanel Thurman
This dates from about 1890, but I haven't been able to trace the poet. Can any of you make a suggestion?
Lying supine on the soft, matted grasses,
Gazing up lazily into the blue
Of the sky, when the wandering wind as it passes
Opens the branches for me to look through,
Idly I ponder, and ponder, and ponder,
Thinking of nothing, yet happy and free ;
Careless of everything, idly I wonder
At the immensity opened to me.
Looking up listlessly, thoughtlessly dreaming,
Mind a vacuity, life full of joy,
All the dull world seems with happiness teeming,
With nothing to worry, or fret, or annoy.
Earth seems a paradise. Why should I trouble
Or toil to win heaven? Why, heaven is here!
Fortune is worthless, and fame but a bubble:
I scorn them both, looking into the clear
Deep blue of the sky while the wild bees are humming,
Above and around me, in harmony deep,
And over the meadows the breezes are coming
To fan me, and soothe me, and lull me to sleep.
This, this is happiness, perfect, unmeasured;
Long shall this day without blemish or fleck
Stay in my memory, lovingly treasured —
Great Scott! There's a wasp down the back of my neck!