Prone on the soil of boyhood I lay unconscious as sin, A child of the deep-silenced wood, The birds sang to me from within. I slipped on the grass and was senseless, My head hit a stone or a clod, I felt an unearthly bliss As if touched by the hand of God. Such melodies came that morning I would have liked to stay But I heard my mother shouting, 'Get up, go out and play!'
Poems Undated (1727)
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