Let Marie, squeeze sweet Suman and pour vin into goblet;
I shall play the mandolin, in crimson evening,
My mate, and you'll sing in hoary-willow a sonnet,
Imagine this evening' ll not return so pretty pleasing,
The shirtless beauty of Karakoram have smitten,
Ahh, mine drowsy eyes, and poetic *****,
There is lovely poetry that is yet to written,
These rocky hills and ridges reveal lore of sofism,
How sweet shining, upon the dimple of karakorin !
This alpine marvel, kindled a light of love in me,
In my verse, I paint, what I saw a pleasent decorum,
Walk beyond me, over cliffs and reefs,
Marie, my mate!
How sweet, I wander from dunes to plains,
I taste the rainy seasons I found the remains,
Of princes kata rani, her coins spikes, and kute kol.
I found lofty villa's that were once safe and warm,
Some lay in ruins, some held by the storm,
The white dove's hum and play in the ring,
Let's swing, awhile in the joyful spring,
Rosa and suman, will make our bedding,
Underside of meadow-bright dom.
Nymph's of azure heaven will sing, a nupcial song,
O! winds in the willows: walikum-salaam...