A Sonnet in blank verse
By Michael Madhusudhan Dutt
A beauteous veil of burning gold did hide
The Day-god’s brow resplendent : and the sky
Like to canvass on its bosom wore
Sweet forms, the pencil of meek Even drew! –
Not many a bird, – not kokils – philomels –
But of diviner kinds – began to sing
So sweet a dirge abouve the bier of the day.
As might have made, ye, sons of this poor earth!
Sigh for a death that is so fondly mourned.
Now from the west rose six moons hand in hand –
Like a soft band of beauties – blushing – fair –
Oh! how their beams did brighten all the scene;
Their lights fell on the lakes and murmuring rivers,
Like silver mantles:- Here the Sonneth endeth !
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