Tis Hunger makes the wanderer
who seeks yet never finds such meat
as satisfies that amateur
who by affection takes a seat.
The weight of Plenty keeps one still
without the need for test or will
when there exists no agony
nor any taste of sweet esprit.
Between these lies the river Lone
whose waters only whet the thirst
no desert flower ever durst
when all the risks were fairly known.
Of flower daft drinks wanderer,
then sleeping does not remember.
YOU ARE READING
Star Trek: The Original Sonnets
PoetryEvery Monday at http://wondertalesprovidence.blogspot.com I post a reaction to an episode from Star Trek: The Original Series. Thematically inspired by certain episodes, some posts have verses which I have adapted into a series of Pushkin sonnets. E...
