With words I painted spring
So the cuckoo bird could sing,
Sing she did, but not in glee,
Her notes just yielded pity for me -
My heart shall beat for eternity;
It takes its cue and hums along,
For life is but an endless song
That brims with sublime variety.
The flowers be wilting, it is spring,
The mind be fleeting, it is spring,
The pain be seething, it is spring,
My heart be bleeding, it is spring.
Laid back on the couch of a grassy patch,
He gazes at the vastness of the sky,
His wandering gaze would browse the cosmos high
When twinkling bodies with starry eyes match.
Shelley! You are the deathless defender,
The champion of poets in flesh and blood,
Your poetry is no putrid pretender,
Through fluid verses forceful flows its flood.