Of such frivolities to speak I
have no wits,
that in my country rhymes;
I still am looking, looking
beyond the sunrise,
so gross a love in rosemary garden,
at white's lease in full abundance
of my shipwrecked dreams;
full glorious sun of our common affairs:
more temperate than darling buds of may,
besmeared with time under the oak,
that boy in the late evening,
e'ery fig leaf in autumn by the sweat of thy brow;
more bright than what the stars
in secret influence comment
of thy most high deserts,
that crow's quill of snow-capped myrtle
along the pavement of cow parsley,
that day of unaltered eye with pen-pricked angels,
no dark can e'er illumine in thy abode.
(C) Naveed Khalid
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Date Created: Tuesday, October 27,2015 3: 47: 58 PM