Methinks dark too hath some use
at midnight lease,
e'ery freaking shadow of woe-begone days
that tolls the bell at my door
of rosemary garden;
not least in vague impressions of poetry,
besmeared with time of eclipsed doom
can e'er illumine my shipwrecked dreams:
away from e'ery departed look
my love of thy most high deserts,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown,
beside the bed of oak in the late evening;
awakes a wonder in thine holy eyen, sweet maid,
of ages that are dead under the Archangel's brow,
this world that shows not half thy part,
of eyes so blind beyond the sunrise,
above the skyline in a smudge of colours dissolve,
some dry leaves in my bed of crimson joy;
hung aloft the ghastly night, our little john,
still plays on, plays on upon the sand dunes.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Sunday, January 10,2016 7: 22: 26 PM
Sunday, January 10,2016 7: 27: 58 PM
Sunday, January 10,2016 8: 17: 49 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem