To this poor man of town pay special heed,
Who craves great ferments for thy bosom’s feed.
My woeful tone thus, a great wealth to soul,
My woeful tone thus, a great wealth to soul,
A woeful heart’s wealth, not a common dole.
I have a right grievance on world’s taste blind,
I have a right grievance on world’s taste blind,
Who took my love’s labour of Farhad’s kind.
On stone the axe sound, totally apart!
On stone the axe sound, totally apart!
Listen! that was sound of axe and the heart!
No comments:
Post a Comment