O my Love! Had Shakespeare's gaping glance first fallen on thee,
His enchanted eyes would have leaped in mirth, and his heart, skipped with so much glee,
That he would not have been enticed and ignited to pen scores of Sonnets on his Dark Lady,
For, he would have surely overlooked a belittled brook of Beauty in front of an enrapturing Sea!
O my Love! Had Keats, the youngest Romantic poet, chanced to espy thy bewitching Beauty,
He would not have wished to be so steadfast as a Star in love for Fanny Brawne, his fancied Sweetie,
But, for thee, for he would have proved a more sincere votary of thy unmatched vivacity,
In whose eulogy, lexicons of Similes and Metaphors for an Epic, would be in huge paucity!
O my Love! Had W.B Yeats sniffed a little the irresistible aroma of thy ravishing Beauty,
More than Alexander the great, he would have fought any War, and signed any Treaty,
Before he would have proposed to Maud Gonne four times in vain, or loved her Pilgrim Soul,
For, in thee he would have relished heavens of happiness, and reached his ultimate mundane goal!
Then, who am I, O my Love, to assess your unfathomable glittering grace?
Albeit I dare say 'No scale can weigh thy heart's Beauty; none can equal thee in Virtue's Race!'
Copyright: Shankar D Mishra 28.07.2021
Picture courtesy: Facebook
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