Chapter XX
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I grant you will not utterly forget, I hold you not unheeding and unjust, But ere you hear my prayer I shall be dead and turned to senseless dust.
How little can one eager sigh attain To touch thine icy heart to tenderness! Who can live long enough To win the beauty of thy curling tress?
GHALIB.
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Hindustani LyricsChapter XX
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