Purple tinge on foliage lay,

refracts the reclined evening rays

which extends till here from the next bay,

which is warm home of all fays.

The moss’d cottage with thatched roof

and pale panes of window glow

and the tulle gown, the archaic proof,

on the damsel’s body flow.

Where the brook with drifting brightness lives

and cleared serene woods for years,

and life to million here it gives,

but all load it itself bears.

The innocent leaves, still unborn,

dreams heaven as they are lulled

as will grow here eve and morn

and on nights too, which by sun are dulled.

And where the trees never dies,

and where branches grow and grow,

and where all laugh and none cry,

where beauty is sown, row by row.

where the baeuty never cheats,

and the nature never fails,

and where to live and die is a retreat,

would love to swoon forever in these lively gales.

                                                                      -Akash Sangwan