Page:The Poetical Works of Ram Sharma.djvu/112



And has the year then circled round?
 * Is golden autumn come again?

Is that the rustling, billing sound
 * Of falling leaves and fitful rain?

Is that the autumn moon so bright,
 * The matchless Kohinoor of sky?

Is that the glorious gem of light,
 * Which poets sing in raptures high?

The river runs with swelling tide,
 * To meet her mighty love—the sea;

Like an impatient, love-sick bride,
 * Old Ocean, how she runs to thee!

The birds their annual plumes have shed,
 * And put on glories rich and new,

Glad of the feast about them spread
 * Of fruit and grain of tempting hue.

The lotus bright,—the water-queen,
 * Majestic lifts her glorious face,

While round and round the Bhromore's seen
 * In humming flights t'admire her grace.

Their best of green the meadows wear,
 * And earth with richest bloom is gay;

And nature looks so bright and fair
 * As if it were her bridal day.

See how, beneath the spreading shade,
 * Yon merry prattlers play around;

Like flow'rets dropt from boughs o'erhead
 * They seem, or Champacs sprung from ground!