It's all pure,
Lest thou think it alloyed.
I have brought it with my all beings-
The compelled forehead handed me;
It's shining roundel.
Its shape shows;
It is made of with great zeal.
Take this nose-ring ruby,
That fell with my heart beating,
Take a stock; it was wet with my sighs.
The big round ear rings
Are tired now for touching cheeks too much.
They are ready to pay;
The cost of my poverty.
Take it and weigh,
Time changes its values.
It will not be so forever
Not too much;
I will reduce its slight weight,
And bear the polish-cost myself.
I believe in profit
Only on my sale.
May god bless thou!
What thou are to snatch from whom?
Who is already himself snatched!
If thou sale the ring too!
My labour would be no more!
As there is slump now.
The ring is the only relic
Of manzar's love.
Youth hath left me to die;
Yet the story is going on!
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Comments about this poem (Goldsmith by manzar jahangir )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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