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A Sea Dream - Poem by John Greenleaf Whittier

We saw the slow tides go and come,
The curving surf-lines lightly drawn,
The gray rocks touched with tender bloom
Beneath the fresh-blown rose of dawn.

We saw in richer sunsets lost
The sombre pomp of showery noons;
And signalled spectral sails that crossed
The weird, low light of rising moons.

On stormy eves from cliff and head
We saw the white spray tossed and spurned;
While over all, in gold and red,
Its face of fire the lighthouse turned.

The rail-car brought its daily crowds,
Half curious, half indifferent,
Like passing sails or floating clouds,
We saw them as they came and went.

But, one calm morning, as we lay
And watched the mirage-lifted wall
Of coast, across the dreamy bay,
And heard afar the curlew call,

And nearer voices, wild or tame,
Of airy flock and childish throng,
Up from the water's edge there came
Faint snatches of familiar song.

Careless we heard the singer's choice
Of old and common airs; at last
The tender pathos of his voice
In one low chanson held us fast.

A song that mingled joy and pain,
And memories old and sadly sweet;
While, timing to its minor strain,
The waves in lapsing cadence beat.

. . . . .

The waves are glad in breeze and sun;
The rocks are fringed with foam;
I walk once more a haunted shore,
A stranger, yet at home,
A land of dreams I roam.

Is this the wind, the soft sea wind
That stirred thy locks of brown?
Are these the rocks whose mosses knew
The trail of thy light gown,
Where boy and girl sat down?

I see the gray fort's broken wall,
The boats that rock below;
And, out at sea, the passing sails
We saw so long ago
Rose-red in morning's glow.

The freshness of the early time
On every breeze is blown;
As glad the sea, as blue the sky,--
The change is ours alone;
The saddest is my own.

A stranger now, a world-worn man,
Is he who bears my name;
But thou, methinks, whose mortal life
Immortal youth became,
Art evermore the same.

Thou art not here, thou art not there,
Thy place I cannot see;
I only know that where thou art
The blessed angels be,
And heaven is glad for thee.

Forgive me if the evil years
Have left on me their sign;
Wash out, O soul so beautiful,
The many stains of mine
In tears of love divine!

I could not look on thee and live,
If thou wert by my side;
The vision of a shining one,
The white and heavenly bride,
Is well to me denied.

But turn to me thy dear girl-face
Without the angel's crown,
The wedded roses of thy lips,
Thy loose hair rippling down
In waves of golden brown.

Look forth once more through space and time,
And let thy sweet shade fall
In tenderest grace of soul and form
On memory's frescoed wall,
A shadow, and yet all!

Draw near, more near, forever dear!
Where'er I rest or roam,
Or in the city's crowded streets,
Or by the blown sea foam,
The thought of thee is home!

. . . . .

At breakfast hour the singer read
The city news, with comment wise,
Like one who felt the pulse of trade
Beneath his finger fall and rise.

His look, his air, his curt speech, told
The man of action, not of books,
To whom the corners made in gold
And stocks were more than seaside nooks.

Of life beneath the life confessed
His song had hinted unawares;
Of flowers in traffic's ledgers pressed,
Of human hearts in bulls and bears.

But eyes in vain were turned to watch
That face so hard and shrewd and strong;
And ears in vain grew sharp to catch
The meaning of that morning song.

In vain some sweet-voiced querist sought
To sound him, leaving as she came;
Her baited album only caught
A common, unromantic name.

No word betrayed the mystery fine,
That trembled on the singer's tongue;
He came and went, and left no sign
Behind him save the song he sung.
John Greenleaf Whittier

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Meri Talab Tha Aik Shakhs Jab Wo Nahi Mila To Phir

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apni hi rawani mein bahta nazar aata hai
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Busy, with an idea for a code, I write
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Ab ke hum bichrre to shayed kabhi khawbon main milen,

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Kab Nahin Naaz Uthaye Hain Tumhare Mene
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wo maghroor sa tha phir bhi achaaa lagta tha,

Wo apna nhi tha phir bhi apna lagta tha ,

Reht

Main Ne Kaha Aaj Jhoot Bolny Ka Din Hai..!!

Wo Muskura K Bolay Tum Mere Ho...

na manzil hun na manzil-ashna hun
misal-e-barg uDta phir raha hun
meri aankhon ke KHushk-o-tar m

Kon Kehta Hy k Nafrato?n Main Dard Hy ?Faraz?
Kuch Mohabbate?n Bhi Bari Aziyat-nak Hoti Hyn !!

Us ke nazdeek gham-e-tark-e-wafa kuch bhi nahin,
Mutmayin aesa hai woh jese ke hua kuch bhi nahin,

Abhi to ishq mein aisa bhi haal hona hai
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har aik lab pe ha

Hum Ne Waqt Se Bohat Wafa Ki Lekin

Waqt Hum Se Bewafai Kar Gaya

Kuch Hamara Naseeb Bura Tha

Chum lety hain kabhi lab to kabhi rukhsar ko

Tum ne zulfon ko bara sar py charha rakha he

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Zindagi Mein To Sabhi Pyar Kiya Karte Hain
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Tu Mila

Urdu Poetry

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