Of deserted looks to my mind still
some such leaves of book
by the west-wind in autumn,
which by beauty's looks to afford so rich a pride,
that by thought alone my mind
hath rent this world of my shipwrecked dreams,
ere in the mellowing year of spring,
of eyes so blind beyond the sunrise
that bright-lit mirror of thy most high deserts:
oft makes my old days anew in rosemary garden
o'er the wall on high, my love, at sunset of the evening sky,
indeed! by thatch-eaves is run where I my feet hath tread,
of furrowed fields against the harvest moon
that day of unaltered eye at midnight lease in waking hour,
ah, but barred of e'ery fair in seraph wings of gold,
her most ardent desire with pen-pricked angels by two lovers dead.
(C) Naveed Khalid
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Date Created: Thursday, July 23,2015 9: 42: 16 PM