Elegy -
Purananuru 231
This bright burning pyre
of black half-burned faggots,
pieces picked as if by a gypsy
in a field fire,
may it burn brighter
till it burns down to a handful.
Or rise in flames
and reach out to heaven.
The fame of our sun-like king,
his white umbrellas cool
as the moon,
will not blacken,
will not die.
This bright burning pyre
of black half-burned faggots,
pieces picked as if by a gypsy
in a field fire,
may it burn brighter
till it burns down to a handful.
Or rise in flames
and reach out to heaven.
The fame of our sun-like king,
his white umbrellas cool
as the moon,
will not blacken,
will not die.
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