Must I break this American Dream
of thy most high deserts,
that shows not half thy part to eyes so blind,
of what all to weird in nurslings of immortality to count I
my age-old love at sunset of the evening sky,
brings forth unto my sightless view this world
of e'ery fair from thy fairest brow,
ah, but in dull hours of the night to a close afraid:
to illumine more bright the sun in deep azure,
I behold at the pedestal of thy throne in waking hour,
that in full abundance of thy presence alone,
oft makes such visitations in my counting prayers,
to that day of unaltered eye under the canopy of a hut,
more blessed of ages that are dead by the sea-ashore,
a compassed ark of broken mast-shaft at north,
that crow's quill in thy graceful ease to thee suffice.
(C) Naveed Khalid
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All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Monday, April 27,2015 7: 42: 24 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem