Of such bewitching looks to my mind still
thy iron frame, hangs a picture by the wall,
of a village girl against a pastoral background,
that e'ery falling star in winter cold
to my love hath rent this world,
of ages that are dead in summer's prime,
more temperate than darling buds of May:
behold! that beauty's belligerent smile,
a sneer of cold command at Beulah's night,
brings forth nothing but to my sightless view,
her seraph wings of gold, darkly lit in thy abode.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights(C) 2014.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Monday, July 21,2014 12: 07: 21 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem