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மயிலை சீனி. வேங்கடசாமி ஆய்வுக்களஞ்சியம் - 20
Sent up a flame to loftier heights in heaven
Than that which rolled from hecatombs in smoke. 'King,' said the musing seer,
'Behold, the woodbine, opening infant blossoms,
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'Perfumes the bank whose herbage hems it round, From its own birthplace drinking in delight;
Later, its instinct stirs;
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Fain would it climb to climb forbidden, creepeth,
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'Its lot obeys its yearning to entwine;
Around the oak it weaves a world of flowers;
Or, listless drooping, trails
Dejected tendrils lost mid weed and briar.
'There needs no construing to my parable: As is the woodbine's, so the woman's life: Look round the forest kings,
And to the stateliest wed thy royal blossom.'
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Sharp is a father's pang when comes the hour
In which his love contents his child no more, And the sweet wonted smile
Fades from his hearthstone to rejoice a stranger's.
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But soon from parent love dies thought of self;
Omartes, looking round the Lords of earth,
In young Zariades
Scion of that illustrious hero stem,
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Singled the worthiest of his peerless daughter;
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Which in great cyrus bore the loftiest flower
Purpled by Orient suns;
Stretched his vast satrapies, engulphing kingdoms,
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From tranquil palmgroves fringing Caspian waves,
To the bleak marge of stormy Tanais;
On Scythia bordering thus,
No foe so dread, and no ally so potent
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