خواب

پرسه می زند میان جمعه عصر رگها

پلک سختش

سنگ می شود به هیچ جای  چشمها

و

هزارهفته ی بی پنجشنبه

روی میز می پاشد

 

 

 

 

Autumn Song

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it for a covering
And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf

And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
Knowest thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems--not to suffer pain

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting
And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf

Dante Gabriel Rossetti