Gurajada Apparao

“ The noon was far advanced; the monarch left The tents, and sought where freshening to the eye The forest trees a shady bower made. Wearied with morning's mirth, all nature sank to rest And not the slightest stir was there, save where The streamlet gurgled over the distant slope, And butterflies, like the spirits of the wood, among The foliage moved. And there he laid him down Upon the grass, and wearied with the chase Soon sunk to sleep and dreamt. ”

“ That feverish flame that creeps through every nerve...
Not soothed but fanned by Nature's cooling hand...
That anguish deep for one beloved ! Worse than
A brute is he that having power to soothe
Lends not his tender aid! O! ”