What needest I in vain words to profane thee,
that to my mind still in wild ecstasy of pure heaven,
this world forlorn under the Archangel's brow;
I most my heart hath fed in nurslings of immortality,
ah, but in hilarious intoxication of magic powers
hath rendered numb my novice feeling
to fill me with thy most high deserts,
that song of songs in eternal silences:
hath writ this embassage to that day of unaltered eye,
ere I hold ye dear, weary with toil my day's work expires,
pourest through e'ery vein so sickening to the bones, my love,
of unhindered scope to light in yellow-pages of history,
O horrible! horrible! of eyes so blind beyond the sunrise,
some such leaves of book by the west wind in autumn,
full rich content of some vulgar paper to rehearse,
that crow's quill beside to e'er melting snow.
(C) Naveed Khalid
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Date Created: Tuesday, July 28,2015 12: 06: 56 AM