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Thread: Time's Revenge

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    Time's Revenge

    I've a Friend, over the sea;
    I like him, but he loves me.
    It all grew out of the books I write;
    They find such favour in his sight
    That he slaughters you with savage looks
    Because you don't admire my books.
    He does himself though,---and if some vein
    Were to snap to-night in this heavy brain,
    To-morrow month, if I lived to try,
    Round should I just turn quietly,
    Or out of the bedclothes stretch my hand
    Till I found him, come from his foreign land
    To be my nurse in this poor place,
    And make my broth and wash my face
    And light my fire and, all the while,
    Bear with his old good-humoured smile
    That I told him ``Better have kept away
    ``Than come and kill me, night and day,
    ``With, worse than fever throbs and shoots,
    ``The creaking of his clumsy boots.''
    I am as sure that this he would do
    As that Saint Paul's is striking two.
    And I think I rather ... woe is me!
    ---Yes, rather would see him than not see,
    If lifting a hand could seat him there
    Before me in the empty chair
    To-night, when my head aches indeed,
    And I can neither think nor read
    Nor make these purple fingers hold
    The pen; this garret's freezing cold!


     


    And I've a Lady---there he wakes,
    The laughing fiend and prince of snakes
    Within me, at her name, to pray
    Fate send some creature in the way
    Of my love for her, to be down-torn,
    Upthrust and outward-borne,
    So I might prove myself that sea
    Of passion which I needs must be!
    Call my thoughts false and my fancies quaint
    And my style infirm and its figures faint,
    All the critics say, and more blame yet,
    And not one angry word you get.
    But, please you, wonder I would put
    My cheek beneath that lady's foot
    Rather than trample under mine
    The laurels of the Florentine,
    And you shall see how the devil spends
    A fire God gave for other ends!
    I tell you, I stride up and down
    This garret, crowned with love's best crown,
    And feasted with love's perfect feast,
    To think I kill for her, at least,
    Body and soul and peace and fame,
    Alike youth's end and manhood's aim,
    ---So is my spirit, as flesh with sin,
    Filled full, eaten out and in
    With the face of her, the eyes of her,
    The lips, the little chin, the stir
    Of shadow round her month; and she
    ---I'll tell you,---calmly would decree
    That I should roast at a slow fire,
    If that would compass her desire
    And make her one whom they invite
    To the famous ball to-morrow night.

    There may be heaven; there must be hell;
    Meantime, there is our earth here---well!



  2. #2
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    hmmmmm

  3. #3
    hemasnair
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    naughty zara...u read this poem fully....??????...

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    nao.....lolz..... how come u know? hahahahaha..... aesy chori pekri jesey meri didi kerti hain lolz

  5. #5
    hemasnair
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    hmmmm.........am a granny....neath through my old spectacles I can see all ur naughty deeds my naughty child...hi..cheer up...!!!

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    love the way u notice my naughty deeds....love u i m leaving for my prayer

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    Hey thanx Both of you......hmmmmm "Both Of You"? It always both of you

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    Senior Member Array sunnyajmal's Avatar
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    don't worry Ryu... mai ho na...lolz very nice share

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    Yeah doc

  10. #10
    Senior Member Array sunnyajmal's Avatar
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    aur mujhe pata hai ke kon posts ku sirf skip karti hai aur phir only writes.... "nice post" or something like this...ahahha

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