It was not in the Winter Our loving lot was cast;
It was the time of roses— We pluck’d them as we pass’d
That churlish season never frown’d On early lovers yet:
O no—the world was newly crown’d With flowers when first we met
It was my shame, and now it is my boast,
That I have loved you rather more than most
Last time,
I think,
I'll brush the fliesfrom my father's face
Translated by Robert Hass
Sadho Ye Murdon Ka
Peer Mare,
Pygambar Mari
Mari Hain Zinda Jogi Raja Mari Hain,
I had no time to hate,
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample
Could finish enmity
We are the time
We are the famousmetaphor from Heraclitus the Obscure
We are the water, not the hard diamond,the one that is lost, not the one that stands still
We are the river and we are that greekthat looks himself into the river
I
Time, thy name is sorrow, says the
Heart of life, laid waste with wasting
Ere the change of things and thoughts requicken, Time, thy name
Unfathomable Sea
whose waves are years,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep
Are brackish with the salt of human tears
Come Time, the anchor-hold of my desire,
My last resort whereto my hopes appeal,
Cause once the date of her disdain t'expire;
Make her the sentence of her wrath repeal
In time of silver
The earth puts forth new life again,
Green grasses
And flowers lift their heads,
1I saw Time flowing like a hundred
That fly behind the daylight, foxed with air;
Or piercing, like the quince-bright, bitter
Of sun gone thrusting under Harbour's hair
It chaunced me on day beside the
Of siluer streaming Thamesis to bee,
Nigh where the goodly Verlame stood of yore,
Of which there now remaines no memorie,