That beacon alight in the furnaces
of hallowed fire that horizon in deep azure,
to a broken mast-shaft at north;
that in the mellowing year of spring,
tinged with stars of old beside a rocking chair,
oft swayed by the west wind in autumn,
slowly drifting away from the sand dunes,
subservient nature's most ardent desire:
of halcyon-days my shipwrecked dreams,
O horrible! horrible! that crow's quill in a nous of light
hath brought me to this end at sunset of the evening sky,
of darkly inkpot in ruffled feathers, my love,
to my mind still in this world of wanton looks
of eyes so blind e'ery fair by the sweat of thy brow,
lost in the twilight of that bewailing night asleep,
some such snowflakes through a falling star in winter cold
under the bolted sky, too deep for woe,
against bloody tyrant time by thy grove,
to think on thee in thy presence alone,
Lord of my vassalage! merry, merry christmas!
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Wednesday, May 20,2015 8: 41: 33 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem