Of transient nature's eclipsed doom
to bloody tyrant time,
that in waste of words goes blind
of what I write through e'ery pouring shadow
to unending doom of poetry that day of unaltered eye,
this world of thy most high deserts more bright
at Minerva's golden brow;
has darkened my days to some rivulet blue:
of foul fawning bay at my door with pen-pricked angels,
needest no wanton tapestry at thy throne
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown by the sea-ashore,
ah, but to drown an eye with what I least contend,
goes soaring high o'er the dale in my bed of crimson joy,
above the mantle piece where the picture hangs by the wall
of two lovers dead under the canopy of a hut,
that crow's quill of worthier pen born in thy graceful ease.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Tuesday, March 17,2015 5: 47: 34 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem