Recitation of poetry is deeply regarded for expressing your true feelings. It has been observed that Urdu poets in the past used to say poetry that depicts the social, cultural surroundings of their era. Last Updated on Sunday, October 14 2018 ... Read more
'TIS spent--this burning day of June! Soft darkness o'er its latest gleams is stealing; The buzzing dor-hawk, round and round, is wheeling,-- That solitary bird Is all that can be heard In silence deeper far than that of deepest noon! Confiding Glow-worms, 'tis a night Propitious to your earth-born light! But, where the scattered stars are seen In hazy straits the clouds between, Each, in his station twinkling not, Seems changed into a pallid spot. The mountains against heaven's grave weight Rise up, and grow to wondrous height. The air, as in a lion's den, Is close and hot;--and now and then Comes a tired and sultry breeze With a haunting and a panting, Like the stifling of disease; But the dews allay the heat, And the silence makes it sweet. Hush, there is some one on the stir! 'Tis Benjamin the Waggoner; Who long hath trod this toilsome way, Companion of the night and day. That far-off tinkling's drowsy cheer, Mixed with a faint yet grating sound In a moment lost and found, The Wain announces--by whose side Along the banks of Rydal Mere He paces on, a trusty Guide,-- Listen! you can scarcely hear! Hither he his course is bending;-- Now he leaves the lower ground, And up the craggy hill ascending Many a stop and stay he makes, Many a breathing-fit he takes;-- Steep the way and wearisome, Yet all the while his whip is dumb! The Horses have worked with right good-will, And so have gained the top of the hill; He was patient, they were strong, And now they smoothly glide along, Recovering breath, and pleased to win The praises of mild Benjamin. Heaven shield him from mishap and snare! But why so early with this prayer?-- Is it for threatenings in the sky? Or for some other danger nigh? No; none is near him yet, though he Be one of much infirmity; For at the bottom of the brow, Where once the DOVE and OLIVE-BOUGH Offered a greeting of good ale To all who entered Grasmere Vale; And called on him who must depart To leave it with a jovial heart; There, where the DOVE and OLIVE-BOUGH Once hung, a Poet harbours now, A simple water-drinking Bard; Why need our Hero then (though frail His best resolves) be on his guard? He marches by, secure and bold; Yet while he thinks on times of old, It seems that all looks wondrous cold; He shrugs his shoulders, shakes his head, And, for the honest folk within, It is a doubt with Benjamin Whether they be alive or dead! 'Here' is no danger,--none at all! Beyond his wish he walks secure; But pass a mile--and 'then' for trial,--- Then for the pride of self-denial; If he resist that tempting door, Which with such friendly voice will call; If he resist those casement panes, And that bright gleam which thence will fall Upon his Leaders' bells and manes, Inviting him with cheerful lure: For still, though all be dark elsewhere, Some shining notice will be 'there', Of open house and ready fare. The place to Benjamin right well Is known, and by as strong a spell As used to be that sign of love And hope--the OLIVE-BOUGH and DOVE; He knows it to his cost, good Man! Who does not know the famous SWAN? Object uncouth! and yet our boast, For it was painted by the Host; His own conceit the figure planned, 'Twas coloured all by his own hand; And that frail Child of thirsty clay, Of whom I sing this rustic lay, Could tell with self-dissatisfaction Quaint stories of the bird's attraction! Well! that is past--and in despite Of open door and shining light. And now the conqueror essays The long ascent of Dunmail-raise; And with his team is gentle here As when he clomb from Rydal Mere; His whip they do not dread--his voice They only hear it to rejoice. To stand or go is at 'their' pleasure; Their efforts and their time they measure By generous pride within the breast; And, while they strain, and while they rest, He thus pursues his thoughts at leisure. Now am I fairly safe to-night-- And with proud cause my heart is light: I trespassed lately worse than ever-- But Heaven has blest a good endeavour; And, to my soul's content, I find The evil One is left behind. Yes, let my master fume and fret, Here am I--with my horses yet! My jolly team, he finds that ye Will work for nobody but me! Full proof of this the Country gained; It knows how ye were vexed and strained, And forced unworthy stripes to bear, When trusted to another's care. Here was it--on this rugged slope, Which now ye climb with heart and hope, I saw you, between rage and fear, Plunge, and fling back a spiteful ear, And ever more and more confused, As ye were more and more abused: As chance would have it, passing by I saw you in that jeopardy: A word from me was like a charm; Ye pulled together with one mind; And your huge burthen, safe from harm, Moved like a vessel in the wind! --Yes, without me, up hills so high 'Tis vain to strive for mastery. Then grieve not, jolly team! though tough The road we travel, steep, and rough; Though Rydal-heights and Dunmail-raise, And all their fellow banks and braes, Full often make you stretch and strain, And halt for breath and halt again, Yet to their sturdiness 'tis owing That side by side we still are going! While Benjamin in earnest mood His meditations thus pursued, A storm, which had been smothered long, Was growing inwardly more strong; And, in its struggles to get free, Was busily employed as he. The thunder had begun to growl-- He heard not, too intent of soul; The air was now without a breath-- He marked not that 'twas still as death. But soon large rain-drops on his head Fell with the weight of drops of lead;-- He starts--and takes, at the admonition, A sage survey of his condition. The road is black before his eyes, Glimmering faintly where it lies; Black is the sky--and every hill, Up to the sky, is blacker still-- Sky, hill, and dale, one dismal room, Hung round and overhung with gloom; Save that above a single height Is to be seen a lurid light, Above Helm-crag--a streak half dead, A burning of portentous red; And near that lurid light, full well The ASTROLOGER, sage Sidrophel, Where at his desk and book he sits, Puzzling aloft his curious wits; He whose domain is held in common With no one but the ANCIENT WOMAN, Cowering beside her rifted cell, As if intent on magic spell;-- Dread pair, that, spite of wind and weather, Still sit upon Helm-crag together! The ASTROLOGER was not unseen By solitary Benjamin; But total darkness came anon, And he and everything was gone: And suddenly a ruffling breeze, (That would have rocked the sounding trees Had aught of sylvan growth been there) Swept through the Hollow long and bare: The rain rushed down--the road was battered, As with the force of billows shattered; The horses are dismayed, nor know Whether they should stand or go; And Benjamin is groping near them Sees nothing, and can scarcely hear them. He is astounded,--wonder not,-- With such a charge in such a spot; Astounded in the mountain gap With thunder-peals, clap after clap, Close-treading on the silent flashes-- And somewhere, as he thinks, by crashes Among the rocks; with weight of rain, And sullen motions long and slow, That to a dreary distance go-- Till, breaking in upon the dying strain, A rending o'er his head begins the fray again. Meanwhile, uncertain what to do, And oftentimes compelled to halt, The horses cautiously pursue Their way, without mishap or fault; And now have reached that pile of stones, Heaped over brave King Dunmail's bones; His who had once supreme command, Last king of rocky Cumberland; His bones, and those of all his Power Slain here in a disastrous hour! When, passing through this narrow strait, Stony, and dark, and desolate, Benjamin can faintly hear A voice that comes from some one near, A female voice--Whoe'er you be, Stop,' it exclaimed, 'and pity me!' And, less in pity than in wonder, Amid the darkness and the thunder, The Waggoner, with prompt command, Summons his horses to a stand. While, with increasing agitation, The Woman urged her supplication, In rueful words, with sobs between-- The voice of tears that fell unseen; There came a flash--a startling glare, And all Seat-Sandal was laid bare! 'Tis not a time for nice suggestion, And Benjamin, without a question, Taking her for some way-worn rover, Said, 'Mount, and get you under cover!' Another voice, in tone as hoarse As a swoln brook with rugged course, Cried out, 'Good brother, why so fast? I've had a glimpse of you--'avast!' Or, since it suits you to be civil, Take her at once--for good and evil!' 'It is my Husband,' softly said The Woman, as if half afraid: By this time she was snug within, Through help of honest Benjamin; She and her Babe, which to her breast With thankfulness the Mother pressed; And now the same strong voice more near Said cordially, 'My Friend, what cheer? Rough doings these! as God's my judge, The sky owes somebody a grudge! We've had in half an hour or less A twelvemonth's terror and distress!' Then Benjamin entreats the Man Would mount, too, quickly as he can: The Sailor--Sailor now no more, But such he had been heretofore-- To courteous Benjamin replied, 'Go you your way, and mind not me; For I must have, whate'er betide, My Ass and fifty things beside,-- Go, and I'll follow speedily!' The Waggon moves--and with its load Descends along the sloping road; And the rough Sailor instantly Turns to a little tent hard by: For when, at closing-in of day, The family had come that way, Green pasture and the soft warm air Tempted them to settle there.-- Green is the grass for beast to graze, Around the stones of Dunmail-raise! The Sailor gathers up his bed, Takes down the canvas overhead; And, after farewell to the place, A parting word--though not of grace, Pursues, with Ass and all his store, The way the Waggon went before. William Wordsworth
Urdu Poetry – Poetry is the language of heart. Emotions and feelings take the shape of words and are delivered in a poetic manner. Urdu poetry draws its existence from past 18th and 19th century which are rich in tradition and composed in various forms. Most of the Urdu poetry derives from Arabic and Persian origin. From time immemorial, Urdu poetry has been written and narrated by renowned poets of all times. Urdu poetry is enriched with such true emotions and feelings. It has been observed that Urdu poets in the past used to say poetry that depicts and highlights the social, cultural issues of their era.
The poets used Urdu poetry as a medium of expression to put their thoughts forward for the readers. The Urdu poets are known for reviving romance, culture, social & political issues in the form of Urdu poetry collections. Urdu poetry is considered as an integral part of Pakistani culture. Our history is rich with numerous poetry collections from renowned poets like Mirza Ghalib, Allama Iqbal, Mir Dard, Mir Taqi Mir, and the list goes on. Allama Iqbal and Mirza Ghalib are considered to be the flag barrier of Urdu poetry. Iqbal Urdu poetry is based on philosophy, love, and for encouraging Muslims of India. Mirza Ghalib is regarded as the greatest Urdu poets of all times. They have contributed incredibly in the form of Ghazal, Hamd, Nazm, Ruba’i, Shayari and much more. Apart from them, Mir Taqi Mir and Mir Dard are known for romantic and sad Urdu poetry. Several other maestros of Urdu Poetry have been passed who added some valuable pearls and gems to the poetic collections from time to time.
Urdu poetry has evolved and revolutionized from time to time. Previously tough Persian and Arabic words are used for narrating the Urdu poetry. Later use of simpler Urdu words have taken over and are used more oftenly. Poets like Ahmed Faraz, Parveen Shakir, Faiz Ahmed Faiz have added some valuable Urdu poetry collection that are loved and praised by masses to date. New subject matter, themes are used by new poets that has modernized Urdu Poetry. The various forms of Urdu Poetry available for the readers includes Ghazal, Hamd, Marsiya, Naat, Nazm, Qasida, Masnavi, Naat, Qawalli, Ruba’i, Shayari and much more. The poetry lovers can stock their libraries and houses with the enormous treasure of Urdu poetry. The collection of Urdu Poems in the form of Dewan and Kuliyat are preferred by those who have a taste for traditional poetry. Allama Iqbal and Mirza Ghalib have immense contribution to the Urdu poetry.
The Urdu poetry collection of Ghalib and Iqbal are researched, read and shared by masses worldwide.The modern Urdu poets possess a progressive and practical state of mind that is far from the narration of female beauty and romance. Urdu Ghazals has been associated with emotions earlier, but now the trends are changing to give it a completely new domain of expression. Many Urdu poets become popular because of their Romantic poetry include Ghazal Ahmed Faraz, Habib Jalib, Sagar Siddiqui, Muneer Niazi, Mohsin Naqvi, Farhat Abbas Shah and many others.
The archive of HamariWeb provides the evergreen Urdu poetry collection for the viewers. Some of the finest gems of Urdu Shayari are Munir Niazi, Allama Iqbal, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Ahmed Faraz, Mirza Ghalib, Habib Jalib, Parveen Shakir, John Elia, Syed Wasi Shah to name a few. You can even search, post, read, and share the Urdu poetry based on various genres that includes Eid poetry, sad poetry, patriotic poetry, love poetry, rain poetry, mother poetry, Islamic poetry etc. People with great taste in poetry are glued to this page. Find some of the finest and latest collection of Urdu poetry on HamariWeb.