This that I know not by what cruel hand or eye,
So damned by infernal grave this world,
Plagues the mind by the sweat of thy brow,
The first frost in the morning dew but in vain,
To eternal bliss through such visions arise,
Behold! e'ery fair face in summer's prime,
Woeful love, alas, too young to die!
And awakened by night in dumb despair,
The tongue-tied Muse to my sightless view,
That in perpetual beauty sustains on wings;
While I to whom no such thing in solemn or strain,
Nor least shall move me more thy bones to Adonis,
God forbid, to see her smile face in dismal shades,
Be my only woe that mocks at time's waking hour.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights(C) 2014.
All Rights Reserved.
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