O, Mossy Fane

O, Mossy Fane

             O, Mossy Fane

Beside the brook that sang by Eden’s glade,

Stood my small bower of meek and mossy wood;

There first mine eyes, like weeping rose, displayed

Their dawn in Savior’s smile, so purely good.

The splendid sun on fair Varendra shone,

While April’s birds in emerald branches played;

And Mother’s voice, with sweet old visions drawn,

Made holy even-song within the shade.

The shallow winds came dancing through my room,

Then fled, then came, like angels crowned with spring;

And green-tressed flowers upon the river's bloom

Did bend and hearken while the panes did sing

O mossy fane, you are a lost Paradise to me,

My bosom still weeps beside your sacred tree.

---Affaq N Affaq 

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