The Clod and the Pebble
"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell's despair."
So sung a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:
"Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite."
Corrupted By The Sun
I saw her. In a miniscule moment. Her long brown hair so luscious and lively, cascading like a waterfall past her shoulders down to her torso. Curls bouncing as she turned. Her eyes were as green as a tropical forest. When caught in your direction, they not only saw your body but also your soul. So bewitching, as if she could lure you in with a single grimace. I was breathless. Her beauty was bewildering. I could not seem to comprehend how a woman could be so perfect. It seemed as though utopia did exist, though it had taken human form. I had never felt like that before, it was incredible, yet somewhat miserable… would I ever see this woman again? Was she real or was I going mad? I continued to promenade through the markets. The thought of this woman still trapped in my mind.
That night was the most difficult, as I did not get a wink of sleep, but how could I? After seeing such a beautiful woman, what man would be able to resist such a temptation? I wanted to see her again; I needed to see her again. I had to know she was real. I had to know that I was not crazy, and that perfection did exist, as I had just witnessed it in her. I lay on my bed, watching the sunrise through my window. I rose, and wandered off to a nearby field. I come here to reminisce and appreciate how beautiful the world is, inhaling the natural beauty infused in the flora. I lay beneath the oak tree, so peaceful and pleased. I could hear the soft voice of a woman, whispering sweet melodies. I thought this odd, as I know no one often...
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