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Off The Ground - Poem by Walter de la Mare

Three jolly Farmers
Once bet a pound
Each dance the others would
Off the ground.
Out of their coats
They slipped right soon,
And neat and nicesome
Put each his shoon.
One--Two--Three!
And away they go,
Not too fast,
And not too slow;
Out from the elm-tree's
Noonday shadow,
Into the sun
And across the meadow.
Past the schoolroom,
With knees well bent,
Fingers a flicking,
They dancing went.
Up sides and over,
And round and round,
They crossed click-clacking
The Parish bound;
By Tupman's meadow
They did their mile,
Tee-to-tum
On a three-barred stile.
Then straight through Whipham,
Downhill to Week,
Footing it lightsome,
But not too quick,
Up fields to Watchet
And on through Wye,
Till seven fine churches
They'd seen slip by --
Seven fine churches,
And five old mills,
Farms in the valley,
And sheep on the hills;
Old Man's Acre
And Dead Man's Pool
All left behind,
As they danced through Wool.
And Wool gone by,
Like tops that seem
To spin in sleep
They danced in dream:
Withy -- Wellover --
Wassop -- Wo --
Like an old clock
Their heels did go.
A league and a league
And a league they went,
And not one weary,
And not one spent.
And log, and behold!
Past Willow-cum-Leigh
Stretched with its waters
The great green sea.
Says Farmer Bates,
'I puffs and I blows,
What's under the water,
Why, no man knows !'
Says Farmer Giles,
'My mind comes weak,
And a good man drownded
Is far to seek. '
But Farmer Turvey,
On twirling toes,
Up's with his gaiters,
And in he goes:
Down where the mermaids
Pluck and play
On their twangling harps
In a sea-green day;
Down where the mermaids
Finned and fair,
Sleek with their combs
Their yellow hair. . . .
Bates and Giles --
On the shingle sat,
Gazing at Turvey's
Floating hat.
But never a ripple
Nor bubble told
Where he was supping
Off plates of gold.
Never an echo
Rilled through the sea
Of the feasting and dancing
And minstrelsy.
They called -- called -- called;
Came no reply:
Nought but the ripples'
Sandy sigh.
Then glum and silent
They sat instead,
Vacantly brooding
On home and bed,
Till both together
Stood up and said: --
'Us knows not, dreams not,
Where you be,
Turvey, unless
In the deep blue sea;
But axcusing silver --
And it comes most willing --
Here's us two paying our forty shilling;
For it's sartin sure, Turvey,
Safe and sound,
You danced us a square, Turvey,
Off the ground.'
Walter de la Mare

Latest Urdu Poetry

وہ جو اک شرط تھی وحشت کی اٹھا دی گئی کیا
میری بستی کسی ص

Hai Aks Mayassar Tera, Jis Simt Bhi Dekhun
Kya Har Koi Tum Sa Hai Ya Sara Jahan Tum Ho...

Kehty hen use shehar k sab log maseeha,
Wo shakhs mery dard sy anjaan sa Q hai?

Be-adal hi hot

Is qadar qemti to na tha mera chain-o-Sakon Faraz
Loot kr lay gya wo kissi anmol khazany ki tarah..

Ab Ke Rut Badli Tou Khushbu Ka Safar Dekhay Ga Kon ?
Zakham Phoolon Ki Tarah Mehkain Gain Per Dekha

My dove, my beautiful one,
Arise, arise!
The night-dew lies
Upon my lips and eyes.

The odo

A cicada shell;
it sang itself
utterly away.


Translated by R.H. Blyth
Matsuo Basho

Woh zulm-o-sitam dhaaye aur mujh se wafa mangay,
Jaise koi gul kar ke deepak se ziyaa mangay,
jeen

Tere Ishq Ki Intaha Chahta Hu
Meri Sadgi Daikh Kya Chahti Hu

Sitam Ho K Wa'ada Be Hajabi
Koi

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted

Kamsani Mein Bahut Shareer Thi Woh,
Ab Toh Shetaan Ho Gayi Hogi

So when Curll's Stomach the strong Drench o'ercame,
(Infus'd in Vengenance of insulted Fame)
Th' A

Kasinath the new young singer fills the hall with sound:
The seven notes dance in his throat like s

Ku-Ba-Ku Phail Gai Baat Shanasai Ki
Us Ne Khushbu Ki Tarah Meri Pazirai Ki.. ....

Akhtar-e-shaam ki aati hai Falak se awaaz,

Sajda karti hai Sahar jis ko wo hai aaj ki raat,

Re

The Oriole sings in the greening grove
As if he were half-way waiting,
The rosebuds peep from th

Apne DiL Ko Tere DiL se Mila Bethe Hain...
Zindagi ki Khushiyan Tere Naam Laga Bethe Hain...

T

Gaahe-gaahe ab yehi ho kya,
Tum se mil kar bohat khushi ho kya,

Mil rahi ho barre tapaak ke sath

Us K Sath Juft Ho Jaun

Dua Mangi Hai Taaq Raton Me...

Let the old snow be covered with the new:
The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden.

Urdu Poetry

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