They Flee From Me BY SIR THOMAS WYATT

They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
That now are wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themself in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range,
Busily seeking with a continual change.

Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small;
There withall sweetly did me kiss
And softly said, “Dear heart, how like you this?”

It was no dream: I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness,
And she also, to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindly am served
I would fain know what she hath deserved.

SONNET 38 by William Shakespeare.

How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent 
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight Muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

SONNET 36 by William Shakespeare.

Let me confess that we two must be twain, 
Although our undivided loves are one: 
So shall those blots that do with me remain 
Without thy help by me be borne alone. 
In our two loves there is but one respect, 
Though in our lives a separable spite, 
Which though it alter not love's sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee, 
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me, 
Unless thou take that honour from thy name: 
But do not so;
I love thee in such sort 
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

चांदनी छत पे चल रही होगी-दुष्यंत कुमार

चांदनी छत पे चल रही होगी 

अब अकेली टहल रही होगी 

फिर मेरा ज़िक्र आगया होगा 

वो बर्फ सी पिघल रही होगी 

कल का सपना बहुत सुहाना था 

वे उदासी न कल रही होगी 

सोचता हूं कि बंद कमरे में 

एक शमा सी जल रही होगी 

तेरे गहनों सी खन खनाती थी 

बाजरे कि फसल रही होगी 

जिन हवाओं ने तुझ को दुलराया 

उन में मेरी ग़ज़ल रही होगी -दुष्यंत कुमार  

Alone by Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view. 

Edgar Allan Poe

SONNET 33 by William Shakespeare.

Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green, 
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all triumphant splendor on my brow;
But out! alack! he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.

Babul by Amir Khusro

Kaahay ko biyaahi bides, ray, lakhi baabul moray,
Kaahay ko biyaahi bides........
Bhayiyon ko diye babul mehlay do-mehlay,
Hum ko diya pardes, ray, lakhi babul......
Hum to hain babul teray khoontay ki gayyan,
Jid haankay hank jaayen, ray, lakhi babul......
Hum to hain babul teray belay ki kaliyan,
Ghar ghar maangi jaayen, ray lakhi babul......
Hum to hain babul teray pinjray ki chidiyan,
Bhor bhaye ud jaayen, ray, lakhi babul......
Taaqon bhari mainay gudiyan jo chhodeen
Choota sahelin ka saath, ray lakhi babul......
Kothay talay say palakiya jo nikli,
Beeran nay khaayi pachhad, ray, lakhi babul.....
Dolee ka parda uthakar jo dekha,
Aaya piya ka des, ray, lakhi babul moray.
Kaahay ko biyaahi bides, ray, lakhi baabul moray.

Translation-

Why did you part me from yourself, dear father, why?
You’ve given houses with two stories to my brothers,
And to me, a foreign land? Why dear father, why?
We (daughters) are just cows tied to your peg,
Will move on to where ever you drive us to, dear father.
We are just flower-buds of your garden,
And are asked for, in every household, dear father.
We are just birds from your cage,
Will fly off when its dawn again, dear father.
I’ve left at home, alcoves full of dolls;
And parted from my buddies too, dear father.
When my palanquin passed beneath the terrace,
My brother fainted and fell, dear father.
As I remove the curtain from the palanquin,
I see we’ve reached the beloved’s house, dear father.
Why did you part me from yourself, dear father, why?

Sakal Bun by Amir Khusro

Sakal bun (or Saghan bhun) phool rahi sarson,
Sakal bun phool rahi.....
Umbva phutay, tesu phulay, koyal bolay daar daar,
Aur gori karat singaar,
Malaniyan gadhwa lay aayin karson,
Sakal bun phool rahi.....
Tarah tarah kay phool lagaaye,
Lay gadhwa haathan mein aaye.
Nijamudin kay darwazay par,
Aawan keh gaye aashaq rung,
Aur beet gaye barson.
Sakal bun phool rahi sarson.

Translation-

The yellow mustard is blooming in every field,
Mango buds are clicking open, other flowers too;
The koyal chirps from branch to branch,
And the maiden tries her make-up,
The gardener-girls have brought bouquets.
Colourful flowers of all kinds,
In hands everyone’s bringing;
But Aashiq-rung (the lover), who had promised to come
To Nizamuddin’s house in spring,
Hasn’t turned up - its been years.
The yellow mustard is blooming in every field.

Astrophel and Stella 66 by Sir Philip Sidney

And do I see some cause a hope to feed.
Or doth the tedious burd'n of long wo
In weakened minds, quick apprehending breed,
Of euerie image, which may comfort show?
I cannot brag of word, much lesse of deed,
Fortunes wheeles still with me in one sort slow,
My wealth no more, and no whit lesse my need,
Desire still on the stilts of feare doth go.
And yet amid all feares a hope there is,
Stolne to my heart since last faire night, nay day,
Stellas eyes sent to me the beames of blisse,
Looking on me, while I lookt other way:
But when mine eies back to their heau'n did moue,
They fled with blush, which guiltie seem'd of loue.

SONNET 31 by William Shakespeare

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead;
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye,
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give;
That due of many now is thine alone:
Their images I lov'd I view in thee,
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me.

Because I could not stop for Death (712) by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death – 
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –

आज नदी बिलकुल उदास थी

इस नदी की धार में

इस नदी की धार में ठंडी हवा आती तो है,

नाव जर्जर ही सही, लहरों से टकराती तो है। 

एक चिंगारी कहीं से ढूंढ लाओ दोस्तों,

इस दीये में तेल से भीगी हुई, बाती तो है। 

एक खंडहर के हृदय -सी, एक जंगली फूल सी ,

आदमी की पीर गूंगी ही सही, गाती तो है। 

एक चादर सांझ ने सारे नगर पर डाल दी,

यह अंधेरे की सड़क उस भोर तक जाती तो है.

निर्वचन मैदान में लेटी हुई है जो नदी,

पत्थरों से, ओट में जा -जाके बतियाती तो है 

दुःख नहीं कोई कि अब उपलब्धियों के नाम पर,

और कुछ हो या न हो, आकाश -सी छाती तो है. - दुष्यंत कुमार  

SONNET 28 by William Shakespeare.

How can I then return in happy plight, 
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? 
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night,
But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd?
And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's strength seem stronger.

I gave you my heart by Emad A. Ghani

I gave you my heart
And the smiles I used to hide
I gave you the beautiful words
That I never said to my mind

I gave you the happy moments
That I never lived before
I gave you what I had
And what I hadn't and more

I gave you my forbidden heaven
And my hopeless will
And when there was nothing left to give
You left me alone in your hell

धूप सा तन दीप सी मैं

उड़ रहा नित एक सौरभ-धूम-लेखा में बिखर तन,
खो रहा निज को अथक आलोक-सांसों में पिघल मन
अश्रु से गीला सृजन-पल,
औ' विसर्जन पुलक-उज्ज्वल,
आ रही अविराम मिट मिट
स्वजन ओर समीप सी मैं!

सघन घन का चल तुरंगम चक्र झंझा के बनाये,
रश्मि विद्युत ले प्रलय-रथ पर भले तुम श्रान्त आये,
पंथ में मृदु स्वेद-कण चुन,
छांह से भर प्राण उन्मन,
तम-जलधि में नेह का मोती
रचूंगी सीप सी मैं!

धूप-सा तन दीप सी मैं! 

Mahadevi Varma

कहां रहेगी चिड़िया

कहां रहेगी चिड़िया ?
आंधी आई जोर-शोर से
डाली टूटी है झकोर से
उड़ा घोंसला बेचारी का
किससे अपनी बात कहेगी
अब यह चिड़िया कहाँ रहेगी ?
घर में पेड़ कहाँ से लाएँ
कैसे यह घोंसला बनाएँ
कैसे फूटे अंडे जोड़ें
किससे यह सब बात कहेगी
अब यह चिड़िया कहाँ रहेगी ? 

Mahadevi Varma

मधुर-मधुर मेरे दीपक जल!

मधुर-मधुर मेरे दीपक जल!
युग-युग प्रतिदिन प्रतिक्षण प्रतिपल
प्रियतम का पथ आलोकित कर!

सौरभ फैला विपुल धूप बन
मृदुल मोम-सा घुल रे, मृदु-तन!
दे प्रकाश का सिन्धु अपरिमित,
तेरे जीवन का अणु गल-गल
पुलक-पुलक मेरे दीपक जल!

तारे शीतल कोमल नूतन
माँग रहे तुझसे ज्वाला कण;
विश्व-शलभ सिर धुन कहता मैं
हाय, न जल पाया तुझमें मिल!
सिहर-सिहर मेरे दीपक जल!

जलते नभ में देख असंख्यक
स्नेह-हीन नित कितने दीपक
जलमय सागर का उर जलता;
विद्युत ले घिरता है बादल!
विहँस-विहँस मेरे दीपक जल!

द्रुम के अंग हरित कोमलतम
ज्वाला को करते हृदयंगम
वसुधा के जड़ अन्तर में भी
बन्दी है तापों की हलचल;
बिखर-बिखर मेरे दीपक जल!

मेरे निस्वासों से द्रुततर,
सुभग न तू बुझने का भय कर।
मैं अंचल की ओट किये हूँ!
अपनी मृदु पलकों से चंचल
सहज-सहज मेरे दीपक जल!

सीमा ही लघुता का बन्धन
है अनादि तू मत घड़ियाँ गिन
मैं दृग के अक्षय कोषों से-
तुझमें भरती हूँ आँसू-जल!
सहज-सहज मेरे दीपक जल!

तुम असीम तेरा प्रकाश चिर
खेलेंगे नव खेल निरन्तर,
तम के अणु-अणु में विद्युत-सा
अमिट चित्र अंकित करता चल,
सरल-सरल मेरे दीपक जल!

तू जल-जल जितना होता क्षय;
यह समीप आता छलनामय;
मधुर मिलन में मिट जाना तू
उसकी उज्जवल स्मित में घुल खिल!
मदिर-मदिर मेरे दीपक जल!
प्रियतम का पथ आलोकित कर! 

Mahadevi Varma

दीप मेरे जल अकम्पित

दीप मेरे जल अकम्पित,
घुल अचंचल!
सिन्धु का उच्छवास घन है,
तड़ित, तम का विकल मन है,
भीति क्या नभ है व्यथा का
आंसुओं से सिक्त अंचल!
स्वर-प्रकम्पित कर दिशायें,
मीड़, सब भू की शिरायें,
गा रहे आंधी-प्रलय
तेरे लिये ही आज मंगल

मोह क्या निशि के वरों का,
शलभ के झुलसे परों का
साथ अक्षय ज्वाल का
तू ले चला अनमोल सम्बल!

पथ न भूले, एक पग भी,
घर न खोये, लघु विहग भी,
स्निग्ध लौ की तूलिका से
आंक सबकी छांह उज्ज्वल

हो लिये सब साथ अपने,
मृदुल आहटहीन सपने,
तू इन्हें पाथेय बिन, चिर
प्यास के मरु में न खो, चल!

धूम में अब बोलना क्या,
क्षार में अब तोलना क्या!
प्रात हंस रोकर गिनेगा,
स्वर्ण कितने हो चुके पल!
दीप रे तू गल अकम्पित,
चल अंचल! 

Mahadevi Varma

SONNET 26 by William Shakespeare.

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage 
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, 
To thee I send this written ambassage, 
To witness duty, not to show my wit.
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it,
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it:
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving,
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tattered loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee,
Till then not show my head where thou may'st prove me.

SONNET 25 by William Shakespeare.

Let those who are in favour with their stars, 
Of public honour and proud titles boast, 
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, 
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun's eye;
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for worth,
After a thousand victories once foil'd,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd:
Then happy I, that love and am beloved
Where I may not remove nor be removed.

Somewhere or Other BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

Somewhere or other there must surely be 
The face not seen, the voice not heard,
The heart that not yet—never yet—ah me!
Made answer to my word.

Somewhere or other, may be near or far;
Past land and sea, clean out of sight;
Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star
That tracks her night by night.

Somewhere or other, may be far or near;
With just a wall, a hedge, between;
With just the last leaves of the dying year
Fallen on a turf grown green.

The Times We’re Living In

On the other side of all this deathing
An intensive labor is going on
It is easy to see the deathing,
But not so easy to see what is birthing
Beneath the surface of the world,
Getting ready to emerge
Like a newborn crowning.
On the other side of all this deathing
As old ways of domination and violation
Fight to hold sway,
A great birthing has begun,
The birth of a new way of being in the world
A way of re-connection and shared power,
A way of cooperation and love.
Those of us who see it
Must hold the vision
And speak it,
Not only to those we know
But to those with whom we have casual encounters,
Our cab driver, neighbor, or waitress at the cafe,
The friend of a friend we meet at a party.
Otherwise,
Reading the news, surfing the net, watching T.V.
It may seem impossible to imagine
That a world based in love is in the process of being born.
And it is in the imagining
When new possibilities are perceived,
That new realities can be conceived.
We are in labor with our own rebirth and
We are midwives guiding the world’s rebirth
It is a long and hard labor
And sometimes it’s frightening
Until we remember we are birthing our full humanity,
Our humanness
And our humaneness
We are flowering out of the mud of our darkest time of separation
Evolving from the time of me to the time of we
This time is difficult, yes, but it is also juicy and joyous.
It is not easy to soar through mud
But mud is rich and fertile
And out of mud

The lotus blooms.

© Robin Rose Bennett 2011

SONNET 24 by William Shakespeare.

Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is the painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies;
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art;
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

SONNET 23 by William Shakespeare.

As an unperfect actor on the stage, 
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might.
O let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd. O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

Invictus by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul. 

William Ernest Henley

His Excuse for Loving by Ben Jonson.

Let it not your wonder move,Less your laughter, that I love.
Though I now write fifty years,
I have had, and have, my peers;
Poets, though divine, are men,
Some have lov'd as old again.And it is not always face,Clothes, or fortune, gives the grace;
Or the feature, or the youth.But the language and the truth,
With the ardour and the passion,
Gives the lover weight and fashion.
If you then will read the story,First prepare you to be sorry
That you never knew till now
Either whom to love or how;But be glad, as soon with me,When you know that this is she
Of whose beauty it was sung;She shall make the old man young,
Keep the middle age at stay,And let nothing high decay,Till she be the reason why
All the world for love may die.

SONNET 21 by William Shakespeare.

So is it not with me as with that Muse,
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse;
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use, 
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse;
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O' let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air:
Let them say more than like of hearsay well;
I will not praise, that purpose not to sell.

Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"