No, not least by what you think I can ne'er know,
much toiled by day's labour,
half-so-ill, weary with time and tide,
my shipwrecked dreams beyond the sunrise,
all wrapped in shroud of a star: Supernova!
hath rent this world at midnight lease,
against many a blushed violets to some rivulet blue
in sweet-scented silence of snow-capped myrtle:
oft steal looks from off thy graceful ease
ere I write thee with love of fealty's Apollo at my door,
ah, but to think thee better off my mind
away from heaven's most high deserts,
that on some lone bark of a tree;
where cuckoos sing in melodious accents I, I,
rest content be oblivion of a host
in the backyard of rosemary garden,
no dark that by dark bewails the night
beside the bed of oak in the late evening,
e'ery flower upon a barren heath in my bed of crimson joy.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Saturday, January 16,2016 5: 52: 10 PM
Saturday, January 16,2016 5: 54: 49 PM
Saturday, January 16,2016 6: 04: 33 PM
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem