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Click below to download : Why This Return? (Format : PDF)
Why This Return?
Why This Return?Why this sunlight
When all seemed without sun?
Whence this call?
I cannot tell,
Yet its mighty thralls.
Hold me, haunt me
Hour after hour,
With its name of thee.
All seems ended,
The last light lost
In the house of the dead.
Yet with time's tide
Rises thy face,
My heart, my soul, my bride.
Though poureth the rain,
And sorrow clouds my sky,
Yet not mine the pain.
What I hear
I can not tell,
And what I fear,
Will not endure:
But thou returnest,
O serene, O silent, O pure!
(The end)
Dhan Gopal Mukerji's poem: Why This Return?
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By the verge of the woodland,Where purling brooks loosen their brown tresses, Where the music of the breeze Is played on viols of the vines and trees, Thy soft words I hear Like songs from enchantment's strings. Ah, vanishing moments of ecstacy! Far-fleeing only to be nearer to my soul, Rest, rest awhile on the hillside of my echoing! Pour on it the sweet rain of thy words' melody Till they mingle and drown
By The Verge Of The Woodland
By the verge of the woodland,Where purling brooks loosen their brown tresses, Where the music of the breeze Is played on viols of the vines and trees, Thy soft words I hear Like songs from enchantment's strings. Ah, vanishing moments of ecstacy! Far-fleeing only to be nearer to my soul, Rest, rest awhile on the hillside of my echoing! Pour on it the sweet rain of thy words' melody Till they mingle and drown
PREVIOUS BOOKS
The same air that you breatheIs the air that caresses my sky; The sunlight that lingers on your hair and lips Sets fire to the pathway of my life; And the call of nature's numberless birds But reflects in world's mirror the music of our heart's singing-- Melody made of sweet agonies, Exquisite joys poured from pitchers of pain, As this summer's heat From the ever-burning heart of heaven. Not heaven alone;
The Same Air That You Breathe
The same air that you breatheIs the air that caresses my sky; The sunlight that lingers on your hair and lips Sets fire to the pathway of my life; And the call of nature's numberless birds But reflects in world's mirror the music of our heart's singing-- Melody made of sweet agonies, Exquisite joys poured from pitchers of pain, As this summer's heat From the ever-burning heart of heaven. Not heaven alone;
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