Where that bed of crimson joy in favour with the star
Of thy most high deserts,
Under the hedgerow of a cottage-tree,
that still abides by thee alone, my love
Of e'ery fig leaf in autumn wind:
Needst no darkling insight to bewail the night;
This world that in haystack of woods
To illumine more bright by what I write,
A burning goblet in the rainforest, lost in the twilight,
Unlooked for love my Lord's light, I behold! I behold!
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights(C) 2014.
All Rights Reserved.
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