Protest By Zahir U Din

Alas! alas! this wasted Night

With all its Jasmin-scented air,

Its thousand stars, serenely bright!

I lie alone, and long for you,

Long for your Champa-scented hair,

Your tranquil eyes of twilight hue;

Long for the close-curved, delicate lips

–Their sinuous sweetness laid on mine–

Here, where the slender fountain drips,

Here, where the yellow roses glow,

Pale in the tender silver shine

The stars across the garden throw.

Alas! alas! poor passionate Youth!

Why must we spend these lonely nights?

The poets hardly speak the truth,–

Despite their praiseful litany,

His season is not all delights

Nor every night an ecstasy!

The very power and passion that make–

_Might_ make–his days one golden dream,

How he must suffer for their sake!

Till, in their fierce and futile rage,

The baffled senses almost deem

They might be happier in old age.

Age that can find red roses sweet,

And yet not crave a rose-red mouth;

Hear Bulbuls, with no wish that feet

Of sweeter singers went his way;

Inhale warm breezes from the South,

Yet never fed his fancy stray.

From some near Village I can hear

The cadenced throbbing of a drum,

Now softly distant, now more near;

And in an almost human fashion,

It, plaintive, wistful, seems to come

Laden with sighs of fitful passion,

To mock me, lying here alone

Among the thousand useless flowers

Upon the fountain’s border-stone–

Cold stone, that chills me as I lie

Counting the slowly passing hours

By the white spangles in the sky.

Some feast the Tom-toms celebrate,

Where, close together, side by side,

Gay in their gauze and tinsel state

With lips serene and downcast eyes,

Sit the young bridegroom and his bride,

While round them songs and laughter rise.

They are together; Why are we

So hopelessly, so far apart?

Oh, I implore you, come to me!

Come to me, Solace of mine eyes!

Come Consolation of my heart!

Light of my senses! What replies?

A little, languid, mocking breeze

That rustles through the Jasmin flowers

And stirs among the Tamarind trees;

A little gurgle of the spray

That drips, unheard, though silent hours,

Then breaks in sudden bubbling play.

Wind, have you never loved a rose?

And water, seek you not the Sea?

Why, therefore, mock at my repose?

Is it my fault I am alone

Beneath the feathery Tamarind tree

Whose shadows over me are thrown?

Nay, I am mad indeed, with thirst

For all to me this night denied

And drunk with longing, and accurst

Beyond all chance of sleep or rest,

With love, unslaked, unsatisfied,

And dreams of beauty unpossessed.

Hating the hour that brings you not,

Mad at the space betwixt us twain,

Sad for my empty arms, so hot

And fevered, even the chilly stone

Can scarcely cool their burning pain,–

And oh, this sense of being alone!

Take hence, O Night, your wasted hours,

You bring me not my Life’s Delight,

My Star of Stars, my Flower of Flowers!

You leave me loveless and forlorn,

Pass on, most false and futile night,

Pass on, and perish in the Dawn!

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Poems in English 

• Sonnet LXIV by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet LXIII by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet LXII by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet LXI by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• To the Fringed Gentian by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• To a Waterfowl by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• To A Cloud by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• The Yellow Violet by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• The West Wind by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• The Strange Lady by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• The Skies by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• The Living Lost by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• The Gladness of Nature by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• The Death of the Flowers by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• The Death of Lincoln by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• The Constellations by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• Thanatopsis by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• Summer Wind by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• Spring in Town by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant
• October by William Cullen Bryant by William Cullen Bryant

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Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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