TO THE CUCKOO
O the Spring’s mysterious and mystic Jewel!
Don't be for me sadistically so cruel.
Nor do add to my fire of anxiety any more inflammable delaying fuel.
But, do sing kindly and serenely to let me know where you do dwell?
What else can I own, on Earth, as rich and valuable a treasure
As Spring’s eternal, ethereal and enviable pleasure?
From the light till the night, what can assuage so much of my mental torture,
In this mundane sphere of sledge, haze, sediment and mire?
Alas! All that I endeavour to trace you instantly goes agonizingly in vain,
Though, your vibrant, verdant and vivacious songs do heal my hidden pain,
And stir me to ramble raptly in your search through the thick groves, time and again;
And my restive and rewarding quest of yours swells my seas of exhilaration!
Yes, the charming, dulcet and melodious music of Yours,
Sprinkles unending rays of mirth and ecstasy all around,
As You keep your soothing whistling on in the Vernal wood, bliss and solace abound!
Who will then will to leave an Elysian realm built by the Panacea of all cures?
O the bejewelled, bewitching and beautiful Queen of the Spring!
Your comely, compelling and mesmerizing singing,
Does surpass your million counterparts' dull and humdrum twittering,
Lo! The elated Earth’s euphorically glued to Your harmonious string!
[This poem, inspired by Wordsworth, is taken from “THE DAWN.”]
No comments:
Post a Comment