David
D AVID was a shepherd lad, beautiful as you,
Sang within a shadowed tent to soothe a king's unrest.
Oh, the bashful years in which he made the songs and hoarded them,
By the other shepherd lads all unguessed.
David's song is in a book, for stupid folk to bow before,
Folk who think it wisdom, which is only lovely song.
You are kin to him, you see beauty in a little moon,
In branches bent to lash you, with each faint gray thong.
David, when he found his songs—did he use to practice them
For a little shepherd maid who marveled at each line?
When he left his humble task, and drew the king from weariness—
She who heard the songs first, was her pride like mine?
Sang within a shadowed tent to soothe a king's unrest.
Oh, the bashful years in which he made the songs and hoarded them,
By the other shepherd lads all unguessed.
David's song is in a book, for stupid folk to bow before,
Folk who think it wisdom, which is only lovely song.
You are kin to him, you see beauty in a little moon,
In branches bent to lash you, with each faint gray thong.
David, when he found his songs—did he use to practice them
For a little shepherd maid who marveled at each line?
When he left his humble task, and drew the king from weariness—
She who heard the songs first, was her pride like mine?
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.