Me thought no fair aspect by time's devouring hand,
That to my decaying form of mortal look in cold repose;
Else in white bier by what I write to my eyes so blind
Than e'ery fair from thy fairest brow in ne'er ending night
To that sheer scope of light, my love, glorified in abundance
Of living memory's pen-pricked angels in waking hour,
Oft illumines more bright a wanton tapestry at thy throne,
Lo! full rich content of that forfeited dark ere thine unweird eye:
I fain would bring to the page in solemn strain this barren rhyme,
Not least to contend by waste of presence thy most high deserts
Against all odds, all vicissitudes of the sky, to my mind still
Of consuming art by canker and a rose at midnight lease- -
Alas, too, shall fade in summer's prime such darkling insights,
Where least I find, in timeless tide, by the sea-ashore, arise! arise!
(C) Naveed Khalid
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