పుట:Gurujadalu.pdf/60

వికీసోర్స్ నుండి
ఈ పుట అచ్చుదిద్దబడ్డది

Her orbs wooed back some relic of the past
Or golden thoughts that blossomed in her breast.
Softly she rose from reverie and withdrew
Her palm from 'neath her rosy cheek, and touched
A VIN with flowerets decked, and charmed the wood :
            Chorus
With power and pelf so falsely fair,
The world is all to thee;
O speak no more; O speak no more,
The world is not for me.

With tempting hues the lilies blow
       Upon the Lake of Life;
But all below, unseen they grow
       The weeds of sin and strife.

The plant of wealth on guile is grown
        And watered is with sin;
The craft of power on blood is built
        Its sails are puffed with din.

O not to me that power and wealth,
        O not to me the world;
In muddied streams there life doth flow
        And vapours dim are curled.

Mine be these woods, these hills, these dales,
        Mine be the crystal stream,
Like wild bird in these happy vales
        A happy heart I roam.

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