nagamuthu osho

Jocund Of Sound

Ave! thy glory galore,
Atweel! thy reckon to lore;
Days with thee pass as breeze:
Rays without thee ne'er blaze,
Woe and joy fills our heart,
Wean and weal your love, aye I resort;
Zounds! Almighty goad our pure path,
Sounds sonorous, lilt with jocund, melts in mirth.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, July 28, 2005
Poem Edited: Monday, May 17, 2010

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Edgar Allan Poe

Annabel Lee



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