The Death of my laureate
A Poem by Nimesha Amarasooriya
A pale yellow withered leaf
Flowed down the
Murmuring Gulf of Spezia
Struggling lamenting reached ashore
Was buried among the
Sighing young buttercups
West wind sang a melancholy lament
Ozymandias , the king of kings
Praised thy wit
The cloud which brings
Fresh showers for thirsty flowers
Wandered away
Unable to offer thee his pure dews
But you motionless laid there
With solitude
A ghastly silence
A freezing isolated breeze
Approached sewing a shroud
For thy pathetic departure
A violent squall blew up
Swamped you into the dark
Don't leave me my love
Thy unfinished 'The triumph of love'
Sighed and pleaded for thy life
When thou art gone,
No sonnet no ode
Will encounter such spirit, such wit
As yours, noble artist
Percy Bysshe Shelly
No comments:
Post a Comment