The night was spiritually lit; milky,
Aha such a beautiful night!
But, still not lucky
To dazzle in a couple's love delight.
Perhaps, alone with its misty milky light,
Hey Look! A farmer is there,
Irrigating his wheatlings amidst frosty bite,—
Ritual holiest by this agrestic seer.
And water here or there shines
To a chilly chide by the moon,
While, milky loneliness pines
For its brave son a harvest boon.
His feet numb in freezing water,
Amidst 'warmly sleepers' he seems a martyr.
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