Oft am I swayed by this gentle breeze,
That in the mellowing year of spring
Too soon shall fade to some rivulet blue,
Full ripe gourd of some hazel nuts in my account,
Of what lies buried in yellow pages of history;
O but to thee suffice in thy graceful ease
To bear the burden of thy yoke too dear,
Of eyes so blind at Minerva's golden brow:
Hung aloft the ghastly night as marigold in autumn
Of broken mast-shaft at north my shipwrecked dreams,
I, too, can claim at sunset of the evening sky
E'ery flower upon a barren heath in my bed of crimson joy;
Erased of looks so fair to my mind still in the cellar-barn,
That day of unaltered eye to eternal bliss in waking hour,
Of plumed hat on knees in ruffled feathers under the canopy of a hut,
That crow's quill of darkened days to my e'erliving memory.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Sunday, March 22,2015 12: 48: 53 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem