Poems · 392 pieces
ख़ुशी
sandhya praat snaan karaahi jyau bhaye daadur paani maahi jo pai raamm naamm rati naahi te sabi dharmaraay ke jaahi kaaya rati bahu roop rachaahi tin kai daya supnai bhi naahi chaar charan kahhin bahu agar saadhu sukh paavhi kali saagar
Summer fading, winter comes-- Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story-books.
Within the circuit of this plodding life There enter moments of an azure hue, Untarnished fair as is the violet Or anemone, when the spring strews them
bhau yah aisaui samau jahan sukhad dukhu det chait-chaand ki chaandni daarti kie achet
Oh! what is the gain of restless care, And what is ambitious treasure? And what are the joys that the modish share, In their sickly haunts of pleasure?
When in summer thou walkest In the meads by the river, And to thyself talkest, Dost thou think of one ever--
AN acre of land between the shore and the hills, Upon a ledge that shows my kingdoms three, The lovely visible earth and sky and sea, Where what the curlew needs not, the farmer tills:
ONCE fairly set out on his party of pleasure, Taking towns at his liking, and crowns at his leisure, From Elba to Lyons and Paris he goes, Making _balls for_ the ladies, and _bows to_ his foes.
Three weeks passed since I had seen her, -- Some disease had vexed; 'T was with text and village singing I beheld her next,
"I have no name; I am but two days old." What shall I call thee? "I happy am,
How oft when thou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
maange mukuri na ko gayo, kehi na tyaagiyo saath maangan aage sukh lahyo, te raheem raghunaath
ADIEU! a heart-warm fond adieu; Dear brothers of the mystic tie! Ye favourèd, enlighten’d few, Companions of my social joy;
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Wreathed in myrtle, my sword I'll conceal, Like those champions devoted and brave, When they plunged in the tyrant their steel, And to Athens deliverance gave.
'Twas on a sunny morning in the month of May, I met a pretty damsel on the banks o' the Tay; I said, My charming fair one, come tell to me I pray, Why do you walk alone on the banks o' the Tay.
1 O TO make the most jubilant poem! Even to set off these, and merge with these, the carols of Death. O full of music! full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Farewell! but whenever you welcome the hour That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won By Philip's warlike son— Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate
Up yonder in Buena Park There is a famous spot, In legend and in history Yclept the Waller Lot.
(Mark, xi.17) Thy mansion is the Christian's heart, O Lord, Thy dwelling place secure! Bid the unruly throng depart,
THE knell of death, that on the twilight gale, Swells its deep murmur to the pensive ear; In awful sounds repeats a mournful tale, And claims the tribute of a tender tear.
This is the treacherous month when autumn days With summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts. Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell; An little house, whose humble roof Is weather-proof;
