Steaming down the noonday blaze
I merge with silent crowds on street
With sweat-lined faces, charred as coal,
Wading as through sea of sand.
Then like oasis Magic-born
Your face appears and pouring shade
Thrills me with that sweetest voice
As like dreamt of nightingale.
At once I chime with speechless song
And throb with bliss of breathless days.
3 comments:
Oh ! you seem to be in Wordsworthian mood...as if mid the din of towns n cities you are haunted by that soothing feeling...good job
cheers!
yeats meets keats
a very beautiful piece of work. she must have had a sweet little voice that mesmerised the young poet. charmed him. gave him peace. the solitary reaper amidst city din.
Post a Comment