No, I'll not move thee more with the stars,
That oft in silent musings alone,
Visit you from e'ery corner of the world;
Nor not a word of rhyme in my mute song,
I'll write but in shallow praise of thine eye:
Autumn moon! of the west wind in yonder looks,
Unfolds many a dry leaf of thy book;
and of poetry to celebrate with thee at night,
I still am thinking of some thought far off,
Away from the skyline of that eagle,
Upon whose wings I let my muse fly, fly...
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2013.
All Rights Reserved.
* Republished
Date Created: Monday, September 23,2013 2: 41: 49 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem