Poezja

Sing this beauty; pause not-
For it will fade after its  plot,
Harshly ;in rough passage-
Gets weaved in glorious beauty.
Stop not! For this song will be -
Yours- immortal spirit in winter,
When the world descends to its ploy-
Fixed in  love for them, the master.
The world will be in  my cottage-
When dearth of word detaches-
My pilgrim soul; rose through the sun,
In beaming glance from rough patches.
Shift not! Brittle mortal pain-
Immortal; unkempt dress will be -
In heavenly measures ,voice of beauty;
Divine- for my soul be in bridal robe.