The Storm.
I can hear the great boughs swing
Through the stormy night,
Each a dryad-haunted thing
With its dark delight,
As within an old-world air
When the Gods were everywhere.
All the wood seems to be up
At some eerie play,
Wild as Bacchanals whose sup
Had all through the day
Been a deep one, as they roar
With the waves upon the shore.
'Tis in sooth as Pan, too, mad
For fair Syrinx fled,
Had from Hades come, and had
Brought with him the dead
Who of old had worshipped him
To a midnight revel grim.
Or is it that Syrinx too,
From the reed restored,
Romps it as the satyrs do
With her now-loved lord?
And is this the night of nights,
And are these their marriage rites?
Who shall say? The great boughs swing,
As Time in a whirl
Did to the dark forest bring
The goat-god and his girl,
With the earth-enamoured crew
For a mystic hour or two.
Till amid the tumult I
Fall asleep, like one
Who had put the ages by
In a dream begun
Far back in another sphere,
Ere my 'wildered soul came here!
Ah! the dream that may indeed
Outlive all I know,
When like one whom Fate has freed
I through Hades go,
And see the great vision cast
On the future by the past.
poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Dyes Cast
Each night
As he drops his head
To the deep dream
Of the dark bed,
A shape beckons him
Wellaway
From the starlight
And the dim day.
A mare
Black as a spade, calls
From the dark hill
As the wind falls,
The reeds mutter
The night is black
As he leaps blind
To the mare’s back.
Then like the roar
Of an ill wind
Or a black flame
From the devil’s kiln,
The mare speeds
To the night’s work
By the old mill
And the dark Kirk.
Shapes flutter
And leap alight
Before they sputter
And, out of sight
Disport and mutter
Of black arts
To see the mare
And the rider pass.
Hour on hour
He clings to scenes
Of dark images,
Wild dreams
And chance friends
From the dead past
In the grim haunts
Of dyes cast.
His face burns
And tears stream
In the long night
Of the dark dream,
He clings grim
To the mare’s back
For his soul’s sake
And a long lack.
The day brinks
At night’s mist;
‘There may be nothing
More than this, ’
The mare fades
From his wide eyes –
But the thoughts bide,
And the old lies.
‘There may be nothing
More than this! ’
And his mind seeks
The mare, the mist;
‘There may be nought
But the dead past,
And the dark haunts
Of dyes cast.’
27 December 1978
poem by David Lewis Paget
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A Musical Instrument
What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.
He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river:
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,
Ere he brought it out of the river.
High on the shore sat the great god Pan
While turbidly flowed the river;
And hacked and hewed as a great god can,
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed
To prove it fresh from the river.
He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river!)
Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,
And notched the poor dry empty thing
In holes, as he sat by the river.
'This is the way,' laughed the great god Pan
(Laughed while he sat by the river),
'The only way, since gods began
To make sweet music, they could succeed.'
Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
He blew in power by the river.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
Came back to dream on the river.
Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, --
For the reed which grows nevermore again
As a reed with the reeds in the river.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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The Temples Of Syrinx
And the meek shall inherit the earth...
Weve taken care of everything
The words you hear, the songs you sing
The pictures that give pleasure to your eyes
Its one for all, all for one
We work together, common sons
Never need to wonder how or why
We are the priests
Of the temples of syrinx
Our great computers
Fill the hollowed halls
We are the priests
Of the temples of syrinx
All the gifts of life
Are held within our walls
Look around this world we made
Equality our stock in trade
Come and join the brotherhood of man
Oh what a wide contented world
Let the banners be unfurled
Hold the red star proudly high in hand
We are the priests
Of the temples of syrinx
Our great computers
Fill the hollowed halls
We are the priests
Of the temples of syrinx
All the gifts of life
Are held within our walls
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Temples Of Syrinx
We've taken care of everything
The words you hear, the songs you sing
The pictures that give pleasure to your eyes.
It's one for all and all for one
We work together, common sons
Never need to wonder how or why.
We are the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls.
We are the Priests, of the Temples of Syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls.
Look around at this world we've made
Equality our stock in trade
Come and join the Brotherhood of Man
Oh, what a nice, contented world
Let the banners be unfurled
Hold the Red Star proudly high in hand.
We are the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls.
We are the Priests, of the Temples of Syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls.
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beautiful Lady Of The May
I.
A quire of bright beauties in spring did appear,
To choose a May-lady to govern the year;
All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds in green,
The garland was given, and Phillis was queen;
But Phillis refused it, and sighing did say,
I'll not wear a garland while Pan is away.
II.
While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our shore,
The Graces are banished, and Love is no more:
The soft god of pleasure that warmed our desires
Has broken his bow, and extinguished his fires,
And vows that himself and his mother will mourn,
Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return.
III.
Forbear your addresses, and court us no more,
For we will perform what the Deity swore:
But, if you dare think of deserving our charms,
Away with your sheephooks, and take to your arms;
Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall adorn,
When Pan and his son and fair Syrinx return.
poem by John Dryden
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Choriambics-II.
Here the flame that was ash, shrine that was void, lost in the haunted wood,
I have tended and loved, year upon year, I in the solitude
Waiting, quiet and glad-eyed in the dark, knowing that once a gleam
Glowed and went through the wood. Still I abode strong in a golden dream,
Unrecaptured.
For I, I that had faith, knew that a face would glance
One day, white in the dim woods, and a voice call, and a radiance
Fill the grove, and the fire suddenly leap . . . and, in the heart of it,
End of labouring, you! Therefore I kept ready the altar, lit
The flame, burning apart.
Face of my dreams vainly in vision white
Gleaming down to me, lo! hopeless I rise now. For about midnight
Whispers grew through the wood suddenly, strange cries in the boughs above
Grated, cries like a laugh. Silent and black then through the sacred grove
Great birds flew, as a dream, troubling the leaves, passing at length.
I knew
Long expected and long loved, that afar, God of the dim wood, you
Somewhere lay, as a child sleeping, a child suddenly reft from mirth,
White and wonderful yet, white in your youth, stretched upon foreign earth,
God, immortal and dead!
Therefore I go; never to rest, or win
Peace, and worship of you more, and the dumb wood and the shrine therein.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1908)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Choriambics II
Here the flame that was ash, shrine that was void,
lost in the haunted wood,
I have tended and loved, year upon year, I in the solitude
Waiting, quiet and glad-eyed in the dark, knowing that once a gleam
Glowed and went through the wood. Still I abode strong in a golden dream,
Unrecaptured.
For I, I that had faith, knew that a face would glance
One day, white in the dim woods, and a voice call, and a radiance
Fill the grove, and the fire suddenly leap . . . and, in the heart of it,
End of labouring, you! Therefore I kept ready the altar, lit
The flame, burning apart.
Face of my dreams vainly in vision white
Gleaming down to me, lo! hopeless I rise now. For about midnight
Whispers grew through the wood suddenly, strange cries in the boughs above
Grated, cries like a laugh. Silent and black then through the sacred grove
Great birds flew, as a dream, troubling the leaves, passing at length.
I knew
Long expected and long loved, that afar, God of the dim wood, you
Somewhere lay, as a child sleeping, a child suddenly reft from mirth,
White and wonderful yet, white in your youth, stretched upon foreign earth,
God, immortal and dead!
Therefore I go; never to rest, or win
Peace, and worship of you more, and the dumb wood and the shrine therein.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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2112: II. The Temples Of Syrinx
... "The massive grey walls of the Temples rise from the heart of every Federation city. I have always been awed by them, to think that every single facet of every life is regulated and directed from within! Our books, our music, our work and play are all looked after by the benevolent wisdom of the priests..."
We've taken care of everything
The words you hear, the songs you sing
The pictures that give pleasure to your eyes.
It's one for all and all for one
We work together, common sons
Never need to wonder how or why.
We are the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls.
We are the Priests, of the Temples of Syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls.
Look around at this world we've made
Equality our stock in trade
Come and join the Brotherhood of Man
Oh, what a nice, contented world
Let the banners be unfurled
Hold the Red Star proudly high in hand.
We are the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls.
We are the Priests, of the Temples of Syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls.
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Syrinx
Pan's Syrinx was a girl indeed,
Though now she's turned into a reed;
From that dear reed Pan's pipe does come,
A pipe that strikes Apollo dumb;
Nor flute, nor lute, nor gittern can
So chant it as the pipe of Pan:
Cross-gartered swains and dairy girls,
With faces smug and round as pearls,
When Pan's shrill pipe begins to play,
With dancing wear out night and day;
The bagpipe's drone his hum lays by,
When Pan sounds up his minstrelsy;
His minstrelsy! O base! this quill,
Which at my mouth with wind I fill,
Puts me in mind, though her I miss,
That still my Syrinx' lips I kiss.
The Blind Caravan
1 I am a slave, both dumb and blind,
2 Upon a journey dread;
3 The iron hills lie far behind,
4 The seas of mist ahead.
5 Amid a mighty caravan
6 I toil a sombre track,
7 The strangest road since time began,
8 Where no foot turneth back.
9 Here rosy youth at morning's prime
10 And weary man at noon
11 Are crooked shapes at eventime
12 Beneath the haggard moon.
13 Faint elfin songs from out the past
14 Of some lost sunset land
15 Haunt this grim pageant drifting, vast,
16 Across the trackless sand.
17 And often for some nightward wind
18 We stay a space and hark,
19 Then leave the sunset lands behind,
20 And plunge into the dark.
21 Somewhere, somewhere, far on in front,
22 There strides a lonely man
23 Who is all strength, who bears the brunt,
24 The battle and the ban.
25 I know not of his face or form,
26 His voice or battle-scars,
27 Or how he fronts the haunted storm
28 Beneath the wintry stars;
29 I know not of his wisdom great
30 That leads this sightless host
31 Beyond the barren hills of fate
32 Unto some kindlier coast.
33 But often 'mid the eerie black
34 Through this sad caravan
35 A strange, sweet thrill is whispered back,
36 Borne on from man to man.
37 A strange, glad joy that fills the night
38 Like some far marriage horn,
39 Till every heart is filled with light
40 Of some belated morn.
41 The way is long, and rough the road,
42 And bitter the night, and dread,
43 And each poor slave is but a goad
44 To lash the one ahead.
45 Evil the foes that lie in wait
46 To slay us in the pass,
47 Bloody the slaughter at the gate,
48 And bleak the wild morass;
49 And I am but a shriveled thing
50 Beneath the midnight sky;
51 A wasted, wan remembering
52 Of days long wandered by.
53 And yet I lift my sightless face
54 Toward the eerie light,
55 And tread the lonely way we trace
56 Across the haunted night.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Floods
In the dark night, from sweet refreshing sleep
I wake to hear outside my window-pane
The uncurbed fury of the wild spring rain,
And weird winds lashing the defiant deep,
And roar of floods that gather strength and leap
Down dizzy, wreck-strewn channels to the main.
I turn upon my pillow and again
Compose myself for slumber.
Let them sweep;
I once survived great floods, and do not fear,
Though ominous planets congregate, and seem
To foretell strange disasters.
From a dream—
Ah! dear God! such a dream!—I woke to hear,
Through the dense shadows lit by no star's gleam,
The rush of mighty waters on my ear.
Helpless, afraid, and all alone, I lay;
The floods had come upon me unaware.
I heard the crash of structures that were fair;
The bridges of fond hopes were swept away
By great salt waves of sorrow. In dismay
I saw by the red lightning's lurid glare
That on the rock-bound island of despair
I had been cast. Till the dim dawn of day
I heard my castles falling, and the roll
Of angry billows bearing to the sea
The broken timbers of my very soul.
Were all the pent-up waters from the whole
Stupendous solar system to break free,
There are no floods that now can frighten me.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Swing It
(jon-jon/babyface/r.phillips)
Oh yeah
Hey hey
I wanna know, do you have style?
The kind of style that makes a woman want to lose her mind
And I wanna know when you make it worth my time
Will it be like all the rest wont give you best, just fall behind
coz I wanna know what turns you on
And you keep the loving strong
coz with me you dont have to ask
coz Im the woman thatll give you what you need
Tell me
Do you think you can swing a little time with me
Swing it, swing it
Ill be all that you need
Do you think you can swing a little time with me
Swing it, swing it
Ill be all that you need
Theres not a thing that I wont do
Once I find a man that gives me love its kind of cool
Take any night by candlelight
I wanna be to you the one you never had before
coz I wanna know what turns you on
And you keep the loving strong
coz with me you dont have to ask
coz Im the woman thatll give you what you need
Tell me, tell me, tell me
Do you think you can swing a little time with me
Swing it, come on
Ill be all that you need
Do you think you can swing a little time with me
Swing it, swing it
Ill be all that you need
Do you think you can swing a little time with me
Swing it, swing it
Ill be all that you need
Do you think you can swing a little time with me
Swing it, swing it
Ill be all that you need
Do you think you can swing a little time with me
Swing it, swing it
Ill be all that you need
coz I wanna know what turns you on
Oh baby, keep it strong
You dont have to ask
coz Im the woman thatll give you what you need
Tell me
Swing it, swing it, swing it with me
Come on baby
Swing it, swing it, swing it with me
Do you, do you
Swing it, swing it, swing it with me
Do you
Do you think that you could swing a little time with me
Swing it, swing it
Do you swing it
Do you think that you could swing a little time with me
Swing it, swing it
Ill be all that you need
Do you think that you could swing a little time with me
Swing it, swing it
Do you think that you could swing a little time with me
Swing it, swing it
Ill be all that you need
Swing it, swing it, swing it
You can do it
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Thou dark stormy Night
All alone in the night
All alone with my own fright
A lightning strikes, runs across the dead black sky
I am alone
but I wonder, why?
In Thou dark stormy night
In Thou dark stormy night
I call your name with all my might
All alone hanging in the night
My arms are sore, my soul is light
I hear the thunder, in the cloudy black sky
I am scared
but I don't know, why?
In Thou dark stormy night
in Thou dark stormy night
I call your name with all my might
Inside Your house in the night
Calling Your name with all my might
Father! Father! Why have you forsaken me?
'You must die so my people can be free.'
In Thou dark stormy night
In Thou dark stormy night
Jesus drew his final breath
Saving us all from our own eternal death
poem by Summer Song
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Night Of Trafalgar
In the wild October night-time, when the wind raved round the
land,
And the Back-sea met the front-sea, and our doors were blocked
with sand,
And we heard the drub of dead-man's bay, where the bones of
thousands are,
We knew not what the day had done for us at Trafalgar.
Had done,
Had done,
For us at Trafalgar!
'Pull hard, and make the nothe, or down we go!' One says,
says he.
We pulled; and bedtime brought the storm; but snug at home
slept we.
Yet all the while our gallants after fighting through the day,
Were beating up and down the dark, sou'west of Cadiz Bay.
The dark,
The dark,
Sou'west of Cadiz Bay!
The victors and the vanquished then the storm it tossed and tore,
As hard they strove, those worn-out men, upon that surly shore;
Dead Nelson and his half dead crew, his foes from near and far,
Were rolled together on the deep that night at Trafalgar!
The deep,
The deep,
That night at Trafalgar!
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Last night I had a dream
Last night i had a dream
a dream about a future
a future that i had buried
deep within
A dream that made me wonder
how deep is that burial place
within me
Last night i had a dream
a dream about a past
a past that my memory
refuses to name.
Dug up by another name from
that very past
Last night i had a dream
a dream about the present
a present that i choose to
live in oblivion off.
a present with hurt, betrayal
pain and sadness
A present that however hard
i run away from shackles
me to my past and my future
chains, which i am unable to
break free from
which tie me down and make me who and what i am
Last night i had a dream
do i wish to wake up and
face reality.
are not the dream and the reality
one and the same.
Last night i had a dream
a dream or was i awake
finally.
poem by Jasveen Ahluwalia
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The Return of the Year
Again the warm bare earth, the noon
That hangs upon her healing scars,
The midnight round, the great red moon,
The mother with her brood of stars,
The mist-rack and the wakening rain
Blown soft in many a forest way,
The yellowing elm-trees, and again
The blood-root in its sheath of gray.
The vesper-sparrow's song, the stress
Of yearning notes that gush and stream,
The lyric joy, the tenderness,
And once again the dream! the dream!
A touch of far-off joy and power,
A something it is life to learn,
Comes back to earth, and one short hour
The glamours of the gods return.
This life's old mood and cult of care
Falls smitten by an older truth,
And the gray world wins back to her
The rapture of her vanished youth.
Dead thoughts revive, and he that heeds
Shall hear, as by a spirit led,
A song among the golden reeds:
'The gods are vanished but not dead!'
For one short hour, unseen yet near,
They haunt us, a forgotten mood,
A glory upon mead and mere,
A magic in the leafless wood.
At morning we shall catch the glow
Of Dian's quiver on the hill,
And somewhere in the glades I know
That Pan is at his piping still.
poem by Archibald Lampman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Favorites of Pan
Once, long ago, before the gods
Had left this earth, by stream and forest glade,
Where the first plough upturned the clinging sods,
Or the lost shepherd strayed,
Often to the tired listener's ear
There came at noonday or beneath the stars
A sound, he knew not whence, so sweet and clear,
That all his aches and scars
And every brooded bitterness,
Fallen asunder from his soul took flight,
Like mist or darkness yielding to the press
Of an unnamed delight,-
A sudden brightness of the heart,
A magic fire drawn down from Paradise,
That rent the cloud with golden gleam apart,-
And far before his eyes
The loveliness and calm of earth
Lay like a limitless dream remote and strange,
The joy, the strife, the triumph and the mirth,
And the enchanted change;
And so he followed the sweet sound,
Till faith had traversed her appointed span,
And murmured as he pressed the sacred ground:
'It is the note of Pan!'
Now though no more by marsh or stream
Or dewy forest sounds the secret reed-
For Pan is gone-Ah yet, the infinite dream
Still lives for them that heed.
In April, when the turning year
Regains its pensive youth, and a soft breath
And amorous influence over marsh and mere
Dissolves the grasp of death,
To them that are in love with life,
Wandering like children with untroubled eyes,
Far from the noise of cities and the strife,
Strange flute-like voices rise
At noon and in the quiet of the night
From every watery waste; and in that hour
The same strange spell, the same unnamed delight,
Enfolds them in its power.
An old-world joyousness supreme,
The warmth and glow of an immortal balm,
The mood-touch of the gods, the endless dream,
The high lethean calm.
They see, wide on the eternal way,
The services of earth, the life of man;
And, listening to the magic cry they say:
'It is the note of Pan!'
For, long ago, when the new strains
Of hostile hymns and conquering faiths grew keen,
And the old gods from their deserted fanes,
Fled silent and unseen,
So, too, the goat-foot Pan, not less
Sadly obedient to the mightier hand,
Cut him new reeds, and in a sore distress
Passed out from land to land;
And lingering by each haunt he knew,
Of fount or sinuous stream or grassy marge,
He set the syrinx to his lips, and blew
A note divinely large;
And all around him on the wet
Cool earth the frogs came up, and with a smile
He took them in his hairy hands, and set
His mouth to theirs awhile,
And blew into their velvet throats;
And ever from that hour the frogs repeat
The murmur of Pan's pipes, the notes,
And answers strange and sweet;
And they that hear them are renewed
By knowledge in some god-like touch conveyed,
Entering again into the eternal mood,
Wherein the world was made.
poem by Archibald Lampman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Go Back To Your Dream
Dreaming of dreams
Some times you dream but some times you don’t
What happens in your dreams?
Some know and some don’t
You may wake up from your dream and try to go back
Many may try but not all can relapse
But for those who don’t know
To dream of a dream it is easy to go back
Visions in your mined that your brain bring up
So I dream and wake up
And can’t remember what my brain brought up
Only but few that I could remember I would lay down at night
And think of my few
I chose but one and think clearly through the night
I fall asleep to dream of a dream
And after the night the sun had come up
I had recalled the dream of a dream
Simple as thought
Just to lay in bad and think of my dream
and be for it had been told I had my dream of a dream
poem by Jacob Pettey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Voices Cryin Out
Voices cryin out, voices cryin out
Voices cryin out in the night hear them call
Voices cryin out hear them call
Its a night
Like no other night
Its a day
Almost turning grey
Its a heart
Like a broken heart
Its a wheel
At the end of day
Its the plight
Of a boy whos scared
Of the waves rushing out
And the wind in the air
Its the sight
Of one longing to taste
Of life
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices from some foreign shore
Visions that seem an incredible dream
Echoing for more
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices crying out hear them call
Its a song
Of a love unsung
Its the pain
Of just being young
Its a cry
Of a voice unheard
Of a face
Speaking silent words
Its the hope
That the time goes by
Take you upon a wing
Teach your soul to fly
Its a wish
That youll live your experience life
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices from some foreign shore
Vision that seem an incredible dream
Echoing for more
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices crying out hear them call
Oh do you know how it feels to be free
Walking your path of life
Embracing destiny one day at a time
Voices cryin out...oh cant you hear them
Voices cryin out...listen please, listen to the future
Voices cryin out...millions and millions and millions of voices
Voices cryin out...oh oh oh oh
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices from some foreign shore
Vision that seem an incredible dream
Echoing for more
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices crying out hear them call
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices from some foreign shore
Vision that seem an incredible dream
Echoing for more
Voices cryin out
Voices cryin out
Voices cryin out...
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waiting... For My Dream Girl
Who is my Dream Girl?
Who is my Dream Girl?
Who is made just for me,
Who is only such girl made by Thee,
Who is no less than an angel,
She is my Dream Girl...She is my Dream Girl.
The moon and the star
Bow down in honour,
Seeing the beauty marvel
She is my Dream Girl...She is my Dream Girl.
The 'Goddess of Beauty'
Who is titled
In the Bible,
She is my Dream Girl...She is my Dream Girl.
Not only for her gorgeous nature,
But also for her beautiful heart like a shinig mirror
Who is worshipped in temple
She is my Dream Girl...She is my Dream Girl.
Who is as purified
As the innocence of a child
From mind nad body, heart and soul,
She is my Dream Girl...She is my Dream Girl.
Who is innocent of anger
Whose sweet voice can never be heard louder,
In front of everyone who is always humble,
She is my Dream Girl...She is my Dream Girl.
Whose eyes so resplendent
Express every feeling hidden,
Who is so much adorable
She is my Dream Girl...She is my Dream Girl.
For whom I am the only one,
Who makes me feel like Heaven,
For whom I am so special,
She is my Dream Girl...She is my Dream Girl.
For whom the courtesy strictly matters,
For her family, from the core of her heart, who cares,
Who can't be more liable
She is my Dream Girl...She is my Dream Girl.
Who can distinguish very well between wrong and right
Who can be the most responsible wife,
The family remains at whose disposal
She is my Dream Girl...She is my Dream Girl.
For whom I am the life,
For whom I survive,
Till my last breath, who is still loveable
She is my Dream Girl...She is my Dream Girl.
Now let Fate, Luck and Time play the game of Love
For they will someday make me meet my Lady Dove,
And for whom I can wait for Time Eternal
She is my Dream Girl...She is my Dream Girl.
poem by Akash Agrawal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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