It might be a pretty gift I won br The wrath of storm might seek itself a mind br A petty grace might be a beauty itself alone br The storm might be more temperate and kind. br I alone in the sun stood to obtain br Breath in free air, but all in vain. br br More to see the sun peep through cloud br Or the rivulet dance on flickering mood br I stood-I stood; but a call, loud br In reverse from them became a dupe. br Her divine wrath, a divine beauty was in refuse br But my wrath I could hardly defuse. br br In surging silence of atmosphere, I br More to see the retreating earth stop br Stopped, caring little about her; or her to defy br I took the role of Alien, ever atop. br In return of her, there although none to tease br All Kashful beside me stopped dancing in breeze. br br How far her should I realize, if I could br Little I know; but realization the sun gave in return br Yet I glued to the scene, and did little I should. br All in vain, oh! , I say 'twas better turn br Before the sun went behind curtain br Before I subdued my pain in pain. br br Little more or petty less I could travel in diverge br Among the Kashful, beside the rivulet br But all in dignity the death returned to my verse br And the world all above turned fever and fret br Now I churn the moments I lost br Are all nothing but visible ghost. br br Today in return the day come again br The rivulet flow fast, Kashful dance I see br Petty much its better than that day of rain br Petty much vile never it'll be. br Now I see over head the sun beam br Though the day I lost a dream within a dream.