Sylvia's mother says Sylvia's busy,
too busy to come to the phone .
Ah blame me not, Catcott, if from the right way
My notions and actions run far.
Anna var i Anders kær, men knibsk alligevel
sab maya hai , sab dhaltee phirtee chaya hai
iss ishq mein hum nay jo khooya jo paya hai
WHITHER dost thou hide from the magic of my flute-call?
In what moonlight-tangled meshes of perfume,
You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn,
Your sweetness in the nightingale, your white- ness in the swan.
Oh that I might capture the essence of this deep midwinter night
And fold it softly into the waft of a spring-moon quilt,
My body, in its withering, may become a lovely swallow.
Under the eaves of my loved one's home I'll build my nest of twigs.
Farewell to old England for ever,
Farewell to my rum culls as well,
Waken, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day;
With banner and with badge we come,
An Army true and strong,
You may talk of Columbus's sailing
Across the Atlantical Sea
"Ambubaiarum Collegia Pharmacopeiæ."
My brother Andy said, that for a soldier he would go,
So great excitement came upon the house of McElroe.
Our boat to the waves go free,
By the bending tide, where the curled wave breaks,
A KOKILA called from a henna-spray:
Lira! liree! Lira! liree!
IF I, dearest Lily, did not love thee,
How this prospect would enchant my sight!
O little mouse, why dost thou cry
While merry stars laugh in the sky?
O bird, that used to press,
Thy head against my cheek
Buy my flowers -- O buy -- I pray!
The blind girl comes from afar;
I shall be satisfied
With the seeing of thy face.
LORD of the lotus, lord of the harvest,
Bright and munificent lord of the morn!
THE morn of life is past, And ev'ning comes at last;
When the stars go to sleep,
The babies awake,
NAY, no longer I may hold you,
In my spirit's soft caresses,
OH thou token loved of joys now perish'd
That I still wear from my neck suspended,
Dil dard ki shiddat say khoon gushta-o-see parah
Iss sheher main phirta hay ek wehshi aawarah
SOFT falls the mild, reviving shower
From April's changeful skies,
Oh ! the shearing is all over,
And the wool is coming down,
Upon his battlements he stood,
And downward gazed in joyous mood,
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