UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still.
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still.
کنار
راوي
سکوت شام ميں محو سرود ہے
راوي
نہ پوچھ مجھ سے جو ہے کيفيت مرے دل کي
پيام سجدے کا يہ زير و بم ہوا مجھ کو
جہاں تمام سواد حرم ہوا مجھ کو
سر کنارہ آب رواں کھڑا ہوں ميں
خبر نہيں مجھے ليکن کہاں کھڑا ہوں ميں
شراب سرخ سے رنگيں ہوا ہے دامن شام
ليے ہے پير فلک دست رعشہ دار ميں جام
عدم کو قافلہ روز تيز گام چلا
شفق نہيں ہے ، يہ سورج کے پھول ہيں
گويا
کھڑے ہيں دور وہ عظمت فزائے تنہائي
منار خواب گہ شہسوار چغتائي
فسانہء ستم انقلاب ہے يہ محل
کوئي زمان سلف کي کتاب ہے يہ محل
مقام کيا ہے سرود خموش ہے گويا
شجر ، يہ انجمن بے خروش ہے گويا
رواں ہے سينہء دريا پہ اک سفينہ تيز
ہوا ہے موج سے ملاح جس کا گرم ستيز
سبک روي ميں ہے مثل نگاہ يہ کشتي
نکل کے حلقہ حد نظر سے دور گئي
جہاز زندگي آدمي رواں ہے يونہي
ابد کے بحر ميں پيدا يونہي ، نہاں ہے
يونہي
شکست سے يہ کبھي آشنا نہيں ہوتا
نظر سے چھپتا ہے ليکن فنا نہيں ہوتا
Words worth
and Iqbal both are well known in the world of poetry and literature but I was
awe struck by comparing both of them side by side
Comparing
both we can draw a clear line between poetry and wisdom poetry.
Wordworth is
standing on Westminster bridge, the view is most probably the same as that on
kinara e ravi. See images.
River Ravi
Westminster Bridge
It was so
calm and quite and serene at that time, which is in contrast with what it is at
afternoon. That’s it !
But Iqbal………….
his thought …..his far sightedness..His deep Thinking …… his
perfectly chosen words , what I call as his wisdom quotes.! His analysis of this world and the hereafter…...
His way of expression makes you feel standing right there. But not just to observe a sunset
or a boat………..
his writing fingers having writ move to
unveil some mysteries, and some realities expressed beautifully in this poem.
I admire his
observation when he compares the moving boat with life of a human being and the
disappearance of boat with death of a human. And I admire his confident
conclusion that many might disagree or are still unaware of …
And that is
‘Death’ that seems like a permanent end to a
human life is actually his disappearance from this world. We cannot see him anymore,
due to our short sightedness. But he is still moving on and continues to exist
…..
Sun Set at Ravi
ON THE
BANK OF THE RAVI
By Allama
Iqbal
Raft in its music, in evening’s hush,
the Ravi;
But how it is with this heart, do not
ask—
Hearing in these soft cadences a
prayer‐call,
Seeing all earth God’s precinct, here
beside
The margins of the onward‐flowing waters
Standing I scarcely know where I am standing.
With palsied hand the taverner of heaven
Has brought the cup: red wine stains evening’s
skirt;
Day’s heading caravan has made haste towards
Extinction: twilight smoulders like hot
ash
Of the sun’s funeral pyre. In solitude
Far off, magnificent, those towers
stand, Where
The flower of Mughal chivalry lies
asleep;
A legend of Time’s tyranny is that
palace;
A book, the register of days gone by;
No mansion, but a melody of silence—
No trees, but an unspeaking parliament.
Swiftly across the river’s bosom glides
A boat, the oarsman wrestling with the waves,
A skiff light‐motioned as a darting
glance,
Soon far beyond the eye’s carved
boundary.
“So glides the bark of mortal life, in the
ocean
Of eternity so born, so vanishing,
Yet never knowing what is death; for it
May disappear from sight, but cannot
perish.”
“ for it May disappear from sight, but
cannot perish.”



Bravo! A very impressive comparison of Iqbal's deep understanding and wisdom, and Wordsworth's relative shallowness.
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