Were there times of thought pervasion, I would their source be one, For on such and such occasion, My Muse would rampant run. Upon a grassy pitch I sat, upon the sun’s first spill, Upon a dancing Muse of thoughts, upon my thinking hill. My eyes adroop in tired aching Both squinting just to see. A paper scrawled in ink awaking A night of sleepless spree. Upon a grassy pitch I sat, upon the sun’s bright thrill, Upon a dancing Muse of thoughts, upon my thinking hill. My writing pen and written page Aflow from line to line; Words a form of the Muse’s stage; A dream atop my shrine. Upon a grassy pitch I sat, upon the sun’s sky-fill, Upon a dancing Muse of thoughts, upon my thinking hill. My Muse would dance my art to life, The heart to beating feel, Relieve in bliss, thought nil of strife, My Muse: a woman real Upon a grassy pitch I sat, upon the sun to will, Appear my dancing Muse of thoughts, upon my thinking hill.