A Hurried Song - Poem by Sadiqullah Khan
Plenteous word, thine sweet tongue
Fail me not; I beseech, a hurried song,
My hand a potent charm, against evil
Spirits and eye, proffered to shield
The beauty from harm. O the waste since;
An age is gone, all that was a bitter vain.
Favor and must I say, I did not ask then,
Warm blood is cold, the wretched old age.
We heard the spring is afoot on the wind,
And they, that the nightingale's lament
Savor is melody, when in autumn his heart.
Messenger breeze, and I send this my love -
How short is spring, drain the good days
The little green shoots, the little pink buds.
On a warm day, drops the broken clouds
On arrayed pavement, -Sheba's mirrors
Plain-. New dew, to the cypress and leas,
And on the leafy path, an oft lark's tweet.
Alight, the seven rainbows, the night gone
A heaven's longing, leap distance to distain;
The lamp's flame on the life is though,
Could kisses be roses on the yellow thorns.
Silence is deeper than all that is said,
Could reason be accompanied in love.
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