Your season of labour ‘neath hot summer sun
Has come to a standstill; the seeds you have won
Are poised on the brink of a wondrous fall fling,
One you can’t control – so
give seeds their wings!
Hush, my heart, you thud too loud,
you stir deep thoughts, attract a crowd
of ponderings inside my chest,
carry calm on fluttered breast
to farthest moors of untried lands,
and banish slumber’s nodding sands.
Hush, my heart, your poundings wake
the sleeping Giant, for whose sake
I pause here, soothing soul in vain,
begging Beast with sweet refrain
to leave me, taking Love by force,
allowing me a freer course.