Stupid, I am proud of....if.

Echoed by: Chandra Prakash
Stupid, I am proud of....if.


Stupid, Nonsense. I was at home of life,
In the forests of the life;
how eternal hand or eye.
If no gentle stand from hands of mine.

In what mistakes, me poor or rich of mind.
If no use of mine for kind.
At last, Burnt the fire of my life?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could entwine the muscles of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars put down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile His work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Stupid, Nonsense. I was at home of life,
In the forests of the life;
how perpetual hand or eye.
If no kind stand from hands of mine.