Hewho poverty electeth, hall and fane desireth not;Than the food of woe aught other bread to gain desireth not.He who, king-like, on the throne of blest contentment sits aloft,O’er the Seven Climes as Sultan high to reign desireth not.He, who in his bosom strikes his nails, and opes the wound afresh,On the garden looks not, sight of rosy lane desireth not.He, who is of Love’s true subjects, bideth in the fair one’s ward,Wand’ring there distracted, mountain lone or plain desireth not.O Muhibbī, he who drinketh from the Loved One’s hand a glass,E’en from Khizar’s hand Life’s Water bright to drain desireth not.Muhibbī.
Hewho poverty electeth, hall and fane desireth not;Than the food of woe aught other bread to gain desireth not.He who, king-like, on the throne of blest contentment sits aloft,O’er the Seven Climes as Sultan high to reign desireth not.He, who in his bosom strikes his nails, and opes the wound afresh,On the garden looks not, sight of rosy lane desireth not.He, who is of Love’s true subjects, bideth in the fair one’s ward,Wand’ring there distracted, mountain lone or plain desireth not.O Muhibbī, he who drinketh from the Loved One’s hand a glass,E’en from Khizar’s hand Life’s Water bright to drain desireth not.Muhibbī.
Hewho poverty electeth, hall and fane desireth not;Than the food of woe aught other bread to gain desireth not.He who, king-like, on the throne of blest contentment sits aloft,O’er the Seven Climes as Sultan high to reign desireth not.He, who in his bosom strikes his nails, and opes the wound afresh,On the garden looks not, sight of rosy lane desireth not.He, who is of Love’s true subjects, bideth in the fair one’s ward,Wand’ring there distracted, mountain lone or plain desireth not.O Muhibbī, he who drinketh from the Loved One’s hand a glass,E’en from Khizar’s hand Life’s Water bright to drain desireth not.
Muhibbī.
Aflamethat Picture’s sabre in its deadliness of blow;Like sparks upon its face the marks of damaskeening glow.Is’t strange that by thy side the bird, my heart, should rest secure?Thy sabre damaskeened to it doth grain and water show!The watered scimitar within thy grasp an ocean is,In which the lines and marks are scattered pearls unique, I trow.Thy sword a sky, its stars the marks of damaskeening shine,My heart’s blood there upon its face like break of dawn doth glow.What though I call that Picture’s brand a branch of Judas-tree?For there the damask marks and grains like flowers and blossoms blow.Figānī’s verse on yonder King of Beauty’s empire’s swordDoth like unto a running stream of limpid water flow.Figānī.
Aflamethat Picture’s sabre in its deadliness of blow;Like sparks upon its face the marks of damaskeening glow.Is’t strange that by thy side the bird, my heart, should rest secure?Thy sabre damaskeened to it doth grain and water show!The watered scimitar within thy grasp an ocean is,In which the lines and marks are scattered pearls unique, I trow.Thy sword a sky, its stars the marks of damaskeening shine,My heart’s blood there upon its face like break of dawn doth glow.What though I call that Picture’s brand a branch of Judas-tree?For there the damask marks and grains like flowers and blossoms blow.Figānī’s verse on yonder King of Beauty’s empire’s swordDoth like unto a running stream of limpid water flow.Figānī.
Aflamethat Picture’s sabre in its deadliness of blow;Like sparks upon its face the marks of damaskeening glow.Is’t strange that by thy side the bird, my heart, should rest secure?Thy sabre damaskeened to it doth grain and water show!The watered scimitar within thy grasp an ocean is,In which the lines and marks are scattered pearls unique, I trow.Thy sword a sky, its stars the marks of damaskeening shine,My heart’s blood there upon its face like break of dawn doth glow.What though I call that Picture’s brand a branch of Judas-tree?For there the damask marks and grains like flowers and blossoms blow.Figānī’s verse on yonder King of Beauty’s empire’s swordDoth like unto a running stream of limpid water flow.
Figānī.
Osadheart, come, distraction’s hour is now high,The air’s cool, ’midst the fields to sit the time nigh.The Sun hath to the Balance, Joseph-like, past,The year’s Zuleykha hath her gold hoard wide cast.By winds bronzed, like the Sun, the quince’s face glows;Its Pleiads-clusters, hanging forth, the vine shows.In saffron flow’rets have the meads themselves dight;The trees, all scorched, to gold have turned, and shine bright.The gilded leaves in showers falling to earth gleam;With goldfish filled doth glisten brightly each stream.Ablaze each tree, and blent are all in one glare,And therefore charged with glistening fire the still air.Amidst the yellow foliage perched the black crows—As tulip, saffron-hued, that spotted cup shows.A yellow-plumaged bird now every tree stands,Which shakes itself and feathers sheds on all hands.Each vine-leaf paints its face, bride-like, with gold ink;The brook doth silver anklets round the vine link.The plane-tree hath its hands, with hinna, red dyed,And stands there of the parterre’s court the fair bride.The erst green tree now like the starry sky shows,And hurling meteors at the fiend, Earth, stones throws.Lāmi’ī.
Osadheart, come, distraction’s hour is now high,The air’s cool, ’midst the fields to sit the time nigh.The Sun hath to the Balance, Joseph-like, past,The year’s Zuleykha hath her gold hoard wide cast.By winds bronzed, like the Sun, the quince’s face glows;Its Pleiads-clusters, hanging forth, the vine shows.In saffron flow’rets have the meads themselves dight;The trees, all scorched, to gold have turned, and shine bright.The gilded leaves in showers falling to earth gleam;With goldfish filled doth glisten brightly each stream.Ablaze each tree, and blent are all in one glare,And therefore charged with glistening fire the still air.Amidst the yellow foliage perched the black crows—As tulip, saffron-hued, that spotted cup shows.A yellow-plumaged bird now every tree stands,Which shakes itself and feathers sheds on all hands.Each vine-leaf paints its face, bride-like, with gold ink;The brook doth silver anklets round the vine link.The plane-tree hath its hands, with hinna, red dyed,And stands there of the parterre’s court the fair bride.The erst green tree now like the starry sky shows,And hurling meteors at the fiend, Earth, stones throws.Lāmi’ī.
Osadheart, come, distraction’s hour is now high,The air’s cool, ’midst the fields to sit the time nigh.The Sun hath to the Balance, Joseph-like, past,The year’s Zuleykha hath her gold hoard wide cast.By winds bronzed, like the Sun, the quince’s face glows;Its Pleiads-clusters, hanging forth, the vine shows.In saffron flow’rets have the meads themselves dight;The trees, all scorched, to gold have turned, and shine bright.The gilded leaves in showers falling to earth gleam;With goldfish filled doth glisten brightly each stream.Ablaze each tree, and blent are all in one glare,And therefore charged with glistening fire the still air.Amidst the yellow foliage perched the black crows—As tulip, saffron-hued, that spotted cup shows.A yellow-plumaged bird now every tree stands,Which shakes itself and feathers sheds on all hands.Each vine-leaf paints its face, bride-like, with gold ink;The brook doth silver anklets round the vine link.The plane-tree hath its hands, with hinna, red dyed,And stands there of the parterre’s court the fair bride.The erst green tree now like the starry sky shows,And hurling meteors at the fiend, Earth, stones throws.
Lāmi’ī.
Fromthe pleasure, joy, and rapture of this hour,In its frame to hold its soul earth scarce hath power.Rent its collar, like the dawning, hath the rose;From its heart the nightingale sighs forth its woes.Dance the juniper and cypress like the sphere;Filled with melody through joy all lands appear.Gently sing the running brooks in murmurs soft;While the birds with tuneful voices soar aloft.Play the green and tender branches with delight,And they shed with one accord gold, silver, bright.Like to couriers fleet, the zephyrs speed away,Resting ne’er a moment either night or day.In that raid the rosebud filled with gold its hoard,And the tulip with fresh musk its casket stored.There the moon a purse of silver coin did seize;Filled with ambergris its skirt the morning breeze;Won the sun a golden disk of ruby dye,And with glistening pearls its pocket filled the sky:Those who poor were fruit and foliage attained;All the people of the land some trophy gained.Lāmi’ī.
Fromthe pleasure, joy, and rapture of this hour,In its frame to hold its soul earth scarce hath power.Rent its collar, like the dawning, hath the rose;From its heart the nightingale sighs forth its woes.Dance the juniper and cypress like the sphere;Filled with melody through joy all lands appear.Gently sing the running brooks in murmurs soft;While the birds with tuneful voices soar aloft.Play the green and tender branches with delight,And they shed with one accord gold, silver, bright.Like to couriers fleet, the zephyrs speed away,Resting ne’er a moment either night or day.In that raid the rosebud filled with gold its hoard,And the tulip with fresh musk its casket stored.There the moon a purse of silver coin did seize;Filled with ambergris its skirt the morning breeze;Won the sun a golden disk of ruby dye,And with glistening pearls its pocket filled the sky:Those who poor were fruit and foliage attained;All the people of the land some trophy gained.Lāmi’ī.
Fromthe pleasure, joy, and rapture of this hour,In its frame to hold its soul earth scarce hath power.Rent its collar, like the dawning, hath the rose;From its heart the nightingale sighs forth its woes.Dance the juniper and cypress like the sphere;Filled with melody through joy all lands appear.Gently sing the running brooks in murmurs soft;While the birds with tuneful voices soar aloft.Play the green and tender branches with delight,And they shed with one accord gold, silver, bright.Like to couriers fleet, the zephyrs speed away,Resting ne’er a moment either night or day.In that raid the rosebud filled with gold its hoard,And the tulip with fresh musk its casket stored.There the moon a purse of silver coin did seize;Filled with ambergris its skirt the morning breeze;Won the sun a golden disk of ruby dye,And with glistening pearls its pocket filled the sky:Those who poor were fruit and foliage attained;All the people of the land some trophy gained.
Lāmi’ī.
Oheart, come, wail, as nightingale thy woes show;’Tis Pleasure’s moment this, come, then, as rose blow.In burning notes make thou thy tuneful song rise;These iron hearts soft render with thy sad sighs.Within thy soul place not, like tulip, dark brand;When opportunity doth come, then firm stand.From earth take justice ere yet are these times left,And ere yet from the soul’s harp is breath’s song reft.They call thee—view the joys that sense would yield thee;But, ere thou canst say “Hie!” the bird is flown, see.Give ear, rose-like, because in truth the night-birdFrom break of dawn its bitter wail hath made heard.Their chorus all around the gleeful birds raise;The streamlets sing, the nightingale the flute plays.The jasmines with their fresh leaves tambourines ply;The streams, hard pressed, raise up their glistening foam highOf junipers and cypresses two ranks ’tween,The zephyr sports and dances o’er the flower-green.The streamlets ’midst the vineyard hide-and-seek playThe flowerets with, among the verdant leaves gay.Away the morning’s breeze the jasmine’s crown tears,As pearls most costly scatters it the plucked hairs.The leader of the play’s the breeze of swift pace;Like children, each the other all the flowers chase.With green leaves dressed, the trees each other’s hands take;The flowers and nightingales each other’s robes shake.Like pigeon, there, before the gale that soft blows,Doth turn in many a somersault the young rose.As blaze up with gay flowerets all the red plains,The wind each passes, and the vineyard next gains.The clouds, pearl-raining, from the meteors sparks seize;And flowers are all around strewn by the dawn-breeze.The waters, eddying, in circles bright play,Like shining swords the green leaves toss about they.With bated breath the Judas-trees there stand by;And each for other running brook and breeze sigh.The gales tag with the basil play in high glee;To dance with cypress gives its hand the plane-tree.The soft winds have adorned the wanton bough fair,The leader of the frolics ’midst the parterre.The narcisse toward the almond-tree its glance throws;With vineyard-love the pink upbraids the dog-rose.The water’s mirror clear doth as the Sphere gleam;Its stars, the flowers reflected, fair and bright beam.The meads are skies; their stars, the drops of dew, glow;The jasmine is the moon; the stream, the halo.In short, each spot as Resurrection-plane seems;None who beholds of everlasting pain dreams.Those who it view, and ponder well with thought’s eye,Is’t strange, if they be mazed and wildered thereby?Up! breeze-like, Lāmi’ī, thy hermitage leave!The roses’ days in sooth no time for fasts giveLāmi’ī.
Oheart, come, wail, as nightingale thy woes show;’Tis Pleasure’s moment this, come, then, as rose blow.In burning notes make thou thy tuneful song rise;These iron hearts soft render with thy sad sighs.Within thy soul place not, like tulip, dark brand;When opportunity doth come, then firm stand.From earth take justice ere yet are these times left,And ere yet from the soul’s harp is breath’s song reft.They call thee—view the joys that sense would yield thee;But, ere thou canst say “Hie!” the bird is flown, see.Give ear, rose-like, because in truth the night-birdFrom break of dawn its bitter wail hath made heard.Their chorus all around the gleeful birds raise;The streamlets sing, the nightingale the flute plays.The jasmines with their fresh leaves tambourines ply;The streams, hard pressed, raise up their glistening foam highOf junipers and cypresses two ranks ’tween,The zephyr sports and dances o’er the flower-green.The streamlets ’midst the vineyard hide-and-seek playThe flowerets with, among the verdant leaves gay.Away the morning’s breeze the jasmine’s crown tears,As pearls most costly scatters it the plucked hairs.The leader of the play’s the breeze of swift pace;Like children, each the other all the flowers chase.With green leaves dressed, the trees each other’s hands take;The flowers and nightingales each other’s robes shake.Like pigeon, there, before the gale that soft blows,Doth turn in many a somersault the young rose.As blaze up with gay flowerets all the red plains,The wind each passes, and the vineyard next gains.The clouds, pearl-raining, from the meteors sparks seize;And flowers are all around strewn by the dawn-breeze.The waters, eddying, in circles bright play,Like shining swords the green leaves toss about they.With bated breath the Judas-trees there stand by;And each for other running brook and breeze sigh.The gales tag with the basil play in high glee;To dance with cypress gives its hand the plane-tree.The soft winds have adorned the wanton bough fair,The leader of the frolics ’midst the parterre.The narcisse toward the almond-tree its glance throws;With vineyard-love the pink upbraids the dog-rose.The water’s mirror clear doth as the Sphere gleam;Its stars, the flowers reflected, fair and bright beam.The meads are skies; their stars, the drops of dew, glow;The jasmine is the moon; the stream, the halo.In short, each spot as Resurrection-plane seems;None who beholds of everlasting pain dreams.Those who it view, and ponder well with thought’s eye,Is’t strange, if they be mazed and wildered thereby?Up! breeze-like, Lāmi’ī, thy hermitage leave!The roses’ days in sooth no time for fasts giveLāmi’ī.
Oheart, come, wail, as nightingale thy woes show;’Tis Pleasure’s moment this, come, then, as rose blow.In burning notes make thou thy tuneful song rise;These iron hearts soft render with thy sad sighs.Within thy soul place not, like tulip, dark brand;When opportunity doth come, then firm stand.From earth take justice ere yet are these times left,And ere yet from the soul’s harp is breath’s song reft.They call thee—view the joys that sense would yield thee;But, ere thou canst say “Hie!” the bird is flown, see.Give ear, rose-like, because in truth the night-birdFrom break of dawn its bitter wail hath made heard.Their chorus all around the gleeful birds raise;The streamlets sing, the nightingale the flute plays.The jasmines with their fresh leaves tambourines ply;The streams, hard pressed, raise up their glistening foam highOf junipers and cypresses two ranks ’tween,The zephyr sports and dances o’er the flower-green.The streamlets ’midst the vineyard hide-and-seek playThe flowerets with, among the verdant leaves gay.Away the morning’s breeze the jasmine’s crown tears,As pearls most costly scatters it the plucked hairs.The leader of the play’s the breeze of swift pace;Like children, each the other all the flowers chase.With green leaves dressed, the trees each other’s hands take;The flowers and nightingales each other’s robes shake.Like pigeon, there, before the gale that soft blows,Doth turn in many a somersault the young rose.As blaze up with gay flowerets all the red plains,The wind each passes, and the vineyard next gains.The clouds, pearl-raining, from the meteors sparks seize;And flowers are all around strewn by the dawn-breeze.The waters, eddying, in circles bright play,Like shining swords the green leaves toss about they.With bated breath the Judas-trees there stand by;And each for other running brook and breeze sigh.The gales tag with the basil play in high glee;To dance with cypress gives its hand the plane-tree.The soft winds have adorned the wanton bough fair,The leader of the frolics ’midst the parterre.The narcisse toward the almond-tree its glance throws;With vineyard-love the pink upbraids the dog-rose.The water’s mirror clear doth as the Sphere gleam;Its stars, the flowers reflected, fair and bright beam.The meads are skies; their stars, the drops of dew, glow;The jasmine is the moon; the stream, the halo.In short, each spot as Resurrection-plane seems;None who beholds of everlasting pain dreams.Those who it view, and ponder well with thought’s eye,Is’t strange, if they be mazed and wildered thereby?Up! breeze-like, Lāmi’ī, thy hermitage leave!The roses’ days in sooth no time for fasts give
Lāmi’ī.
He, an old man in prudence, a youth in might;His sword aye triumphant, his word ever rightLike Āsef in wisdom, the pride of his host;He needed no vezīr, no mushīr in fight.His hand was a sabre; a dagger, his tongue;His finger, an arrow; his arm, a spear bright.In shortest of time many high deeds he wrought,Encircle the world did the shade of his might.The Sun of his Day, but the sun at day’s close,Throwing long shadow, but brief while in sight.Of throne and of diadem sovereigns boast,But boasted of him throne and diadem bright.Delight would his heart in that festival find,Whither doth sabre’s and fife’s clang invite.In feats with the sword, eke at feasts at the board,On his peer ne’er alight did the aged Sphere’s sight:Sped he to the board’s feast—a Sun beaming bright!Swept he to the sword’s field—a Lion of fight!Whenever the war-cries: Seize! Hold! echo far,The sword, weeping blood, shall that Lion’s fame cite.Alas! Sultan Selīm! alas! woe is me!Let both Pen and Sabre in tears mourn for thee!Kemāl Pasha-Zāda.
He, an old man in prudence, a youth in might;His sword aye triumphant, his word ever rightLike Āsef in wisdom, the pride of his host;He needed no vezīr, no mushīr in fight.His hand was a sabre; a dagger, his tongue;His finger, an arrow; his arm, a spear bright.In shortest of time many high deeds he wrought,Encircle the world did the shade of his might.The Sun of his Day, but the sun at day’s close,Throwing long shadow, but brief while in sight.Of throne and of diadem sovereigns boast,But boasted of him throne and diadem bright.Delight would his heart in that festival find,Whither doth sabre’s and fife’s clang invite.In feats with the sword, eke at feasts at the board,On his peer ne’er alight did the aged Sphere’s sight:Sped he to the board’s feast—a Sun beaming bright!Swept he to the sword’s field—a Lion of fight!Whenever the war-cries: Seize! Hold! echo far,The sword, weeping blood, shall that Lion’s fame cite.Alas! Sultan Selīm! alas! woe is me!Let both Pen and Sabre in tears mourn for thee!Kemāl Pasha-Zāda.
He, an old man in prudence, a youth in might;His sword aye triumphant, his word ever rightLike Āsef in wisdom, the pride of his host;He needed no vezīr, no mushīr in fight.His hand was a sabre; a dagger, his tongue;His finger, an arrow; his arm, a spear bright.In shortest of time many high deeds he wrought,Encircle the world did the shade of his might.The Sun of his Day, but the sun at day’s close,Throwing long shadow, but brief while in sight.Of throne and of diadem sovereigns boast,But boasted of him throne and diadem bright.Delight would his heart in that festival find,Whither doth sabre’s and fife’s clang invite.In feats with the sword, eke at feasts at the board,On his peer ne’er alight did the aged Sphere’s sight:Sped he to the board’s feast—a Sun beaming bright!Swept he to the sword’s field—a Lion of fight!Whenever the war-cries: Seize! Hold! echo far,The sword, weeping blood, shall that Lion’s fame cite.Alas! Sultan Selīm! alas! woe is me!Let both Pen and Sabre in tears mourn for thee!
Kemāl Pasha-Zāda.
Highhonored once was the noble Iskender;O heart, from his destiny warning obtain.Ah! do thou see what at length hath befall’n him!What all this glory and panoply gain!Drinking the poison of doom, ne’er a remnantOf sweetness’s taste in his mouth did remain.Retrograde, sank down his star, erst ascendant,From perfect conjunction, alas, did it wane.Dust on the face of his honor aye stainlessStrewn hath the blast of betrayal profane.The Lofty Decree for his high exaltationDid Equity’s Court, all unlocked for, ordain;Forthwith to the Regions of Eden they bore him,They raised him from earth’s abject baseness and stain.Circling and soaring, he went on his journey,From the land of his exile to Home back again.Neck-bounden he stood as a slave at the palace,Freed is he now from affliction’s hard chain.Joyous he flew on his journey to Heaven,Rescued forever from earth gross and vain.In life or in death from him never, ay, neverWas honor most lofty, most glorious, ta’en!Gazālī.
Highhonored once was the noble Iskender;O heart, from his destiny warning obtain.Ah! do thou see what at length hath befall’n him!What all this glory and panoply gain!Drinking the poison of doom, ne’er a remnantOf sweetness’s taste in his mouth did remain.Retrograde, sank down his star, erst ascendant,From perfect conjunction, alas, did it wane.Dust on the face of his honor aye stainlessStrewn hath the blast of betrayal profane.The Lofty Decree for his high exaltationDid Equity’s Court, all unlocked for, ordain;Forthwith to the Regions of Eden they bore him,They raised him from earth’s abject baseness and stain.Circling and soaring, he went on his journey,From the land of his exile to Home back again.Neck-bounden he stood as a slave at the palace,Freed is he now from affliction’s hard chain.Joyous he flew on his journey to Heaven,Rescued forever from earth gross and vain.In life or in death from him never, ay, neverWas honor most lofty, most glorious, ta’en!Gazālī.
Highhonored once was the noble Iskender;O heart, from his destiny warning obtain.Ah! do thou see what at length hath befall’n him!What all this glory and panoply gain!Drinking the poison of doom, ne’er a remnantOf sweetness’s taste in his mouth did remain.Retrograde, sank down his star, erst ascendant,From perfect conjunction, alas, did it wane.Dust on the face of his honor aye stainlessStrewn hath the blast of betrayal profane.The Lofty Decree for his high exaltationDid Equity’s Court, all unlocked for, ordain;Forthwith to the Regions of Eden they bore him,They raised him from earth’s abject baseness and stain.Circling and soaring, he went on his journey,From the land of his exile to Home back again.Neck-bounden he stood as a slave at the palace,Freed is he now from affliction’s hard chain.Joyous he flew on his journey to Heaven,Rescued forever from earth gross and vain.In life or in death from him never, ay, neverWas honor most lofty, most glorious, ta’en!
Gazālī.
Comeis the autumn of my life, alas, it thus should pass away!I have not reached the dawn of joy, to sorrow’s night there is no day.Time after time the image of her cheek falls on my tear-filled eye;Ah! no pretension to esteem can shadows in the water lay!Oh! whither will these winds of Fate impel the frail barque of the heart?Nor bound nor shore confining girds Time’s dreary ocean of dismay!Gazālī.
Comeis the autumn of my life, alas, it thus should pass away!I have not reached the dawn of joy, to sorrow’s night there is no day.Time after time the image of her cheek falls on my tear-filled eye;Ah! no pretension to esteem can shadows in the water lay!Oh! whither will these winds of Fate impel the frail barque of the heart?Nor bound nor shore confining girds Time’s dreary ocean of dismay!Gazālī.
Comeis the autumn of my life, alas, it thus should pass away!I have not reached the dawn of joy, to sorrow’s night there is no day.Time after time the image of her cheek falls on my tear-filled eye;Ah! no pretension to esteem can shadows in the water lay!Oh! whither will these winds of Fate impel the frail barque of the heart?Nor bound nor shore confining girds Time’s dreary ocean of dismay!
Gazālī.
Deadam I of grief, my Moon no love who shows, ah! where art thou?Reach the skies, the plaints and wails born of my woes, ah! where art thou?Save within thy rosy bower rests not the nightingale, the heart;Figure fair as waving cypress, face as rose, ah! where art thou?Through thy lips the rose drops sugar at the feast of heart and soul;Where, my Parrot whose sweet voice doth love disclose, ah! where art thou?Though with longing dead were Ishāaq, live should he, did once she say:“O my poor one, wildered, weary, torn by woes, ah! where art thou?”Ishāq Chelebi.
Deadam I of grief, my Moon no love who shows, ah! where art thou?Reach the skies, the plaints and wails born of my woes, ah! where art thou?Save within thy rosy bower rests not the nightingale, the heart;Figure fair as waving cypress, face as rose, ah! where art thou?Through thy lips the rose drops sugar at the feast of heart and soul;Where, my Parrot whose sweet voice doth love disclose, ah! where art thou?Though with longing dead were Ishāaq, live should he, did once she say:“O my poor one, wildered, weary, torn by woes, ah! where art thou?”Ishāq Chelebi.
Deadam I of grief, my Moon no love who shows, ah! where art thou?Reach the skies, the plaints and wails born of my woes, ah! where art thou?Save within thy rosy bower rests not the nightingale, the heart;Figure fair as waving cypress, face as rose, ah! where art thou?Through thy lips the rose drops sugar at the feast of heart and soul;Where, my Parrot whose sweet voice doth love disclose, ah! where art thou?Though with longing dead were Ishāaq, live should he, did once she say:“O my poor one, wildered, weary, torn by woes, ah! where art thou?”
Ishāq Chelebi.
Thatthy form, O Beauty of his orchard who doth all pervade!Is a cypress, wrought of light, that casteth on earth’s face no shade.Though the gazers on the loveliness of Joseph cut their hands,Cleft in twain the fair moon’s palm, when it thy day-bright face surveyed.To the mart of the Hereafter, when a man hath passed, he gainsThrough the money bright, thy love, which is of joy the stock-in-trade.This, my hope, that yonder Cypress in the bowers of ParadiseShelter Zātī, and all true believers, ’neath his blissful shade.Zātī.
Thatthy form, O Beauty of his orchard who doth all pervade!Is a cypress, wrought of light, that casteth on earth’s face no shade.Though the gazers on the loveliness of Joseph cut their hands,Cleft in twain the fair moon’s palm, when it thy day-bright face surveyed.To the mart of the Hereafter, when a man hath passed, he gainsThrough the money bright, thy love, which is of joy the stock-in-trade.This, my hope, that yonder Cypress in the bowers of ParadiseShelter Zātī, and all true believers, ’neath his blissful shade.Zātī.
Thatthy form, O Beauty of his orchard who doth all pervade!Is a cypress, wrought of light, that casteth on earth’s face no shade.Though the gazers on the loveliness of Joseph cut their hands,Cleft in twain the fair moon’s palm, when it thy day-bright face surveyed.To the mart of the Hereafter, when a man hath passed, he gainsThrough the money bright, thy love, which is of joy the stock-in-trade.This, my hope, that yonder Cypress in the bowers of ParadiseShelter Zātī, and all true believers, ’neath his blissful shade.
Zātī.
Throughthine absence, smiling Rosebud, forth my soul doth go, alas!Earth is flooded by the tears down from my eyes that flow, alas!Should’st thou ask about my days, without thee they’re black as thy hair;’Midst of darkness, O my Stream of Life, I’m lying low, alas!With the stones of slander stone me all the cruel rival throng;O my Liege, my Queen, ’tis time now mercy thou should’st show, alas!When I die through longing for thee, and thou passest o’er my breast,From my dust thou’lt hear full many bitter sighs of woe, alas!In his loved one’s cause will Lutfī surely die the martyr’s death;Let her brigand eyes from mulct for blood of mine free go, alas!Lutfī.
Throughthine absence, smiling Rosebud, forth my soul doth go, alas!Earth is flooded by the tears down from my eyes that flow, alas!Should’st thou ask about my days, without thee they’re black as thy hair;’Midst of darkness, O my Stream of Life, I’m lying low, alas!With the stones of slander stone me all the cruel rival throng;O my Liege, my Queen, ’tis time now mercy thou should’st show, alas!When I die through longing for thee, and thou passest o’er my breast,From my dust thou’lt hear full many bitter sighs of woe, alas!In his loved one’s cause will Lutfī surely die the martyr’s death;Let her brigand eyes from mulct for blood of mine free go, alas!Lutfī.
Throughthine absence, smiling Rosebud, forth my soul doth go, alas!Earth is flooded by the tears down from my eyes that flow, alas!Should’st thou ask about my days, without thee they’re black as thy hair;’Midst of darkness, O my Stream of Life, I’m lying low, alas!With the stones of slander stone me all the cruel rival throng;O my Liege, my Queen, ’tis time now mercy thou should’st show, alas!When I die through longing for thee, and thou passest o’er my breast,From my dust thou’lt hear full many bitter sighs of woe, alas!In his loved one’s cause will Lutfī surely die the martyr’s death;Let her brigand eyes from mulct for blood of mine free go, alas!
Lutfī.
If’tis state thou seekest like the world-adorning sun’s array,Lowly e’en as water rub thy face in earth’s dust every day.Fair to see, but short enduring is this picture bright, the world;’Tis a proverb: Fleeting like the realm of dreams is earth’s display.Through the needle of its eyelash never hath the heart’s thread past;Like unto the Lord Messiah bide I half-road on the way.Athlete of the Universe through self-reliance grows the Heart,With the ball, the Sphere—Time, Fortune—like an apple doth it play.Mukhlisī, thy frame was formed from but one drop, yet, wonder great!When thou verses sing’st, thy spirit like the ocean swells, they say.Mukhlisī.
If’tis state thou seekest like the world-adorning sun’s array,Lowly e’en as water rub thy face in earth’s dust every day.Fair to see, but short enduring is this picture bright, the world;’Tis a proverb: Fleeting like the realm of dreams is earth’s display.Through the needle of its eyelash never hath the heart’s thread past;Like unto the Lord Messiah bide I half-road on the way.Athlete of the Universe through self-reliance grows the Heart,With the ball, the Sphere—Time, Fortune—like an apple doth it play.Mukhlisī, thy frame was formed from but one drop, yet, wonder great!When thou verses sing’st, thy spirit like the ocean swells, they say.Mukhlisī.
If’tis state thou seekest like the world-adorning sun’s array,Lowly e’en as water rub thy face in earth’s dust every day.Fair to see, but short enduring is this picture bright, the world;’Tis a proverb: Fleeting like the realm of dreams is earth’s display.Through the needle of its eyelash never hath the heart’s thread past;Like unto the Lord Messiah bide I half-road on the way.Athlete of the Universe through self-reliance grows the Heart,With the ball, the Sphere—Time, Fortune—like an apple doth it play.Mukhlisī, thy frame was formed from but one drop, yet, wonder great!When thou verses sing’st, thy spirit like the ocean swells, they say.
Mukhlisī.
Onewith Realms Eternal this my soul to make; what wouldest say?All Creation’s empire’s fancies to forsake; what wouldest say?Wearing to a hair my frame with bitter sighs and moans, in love,Nestling in the Fair One’s tresses, rest to take; what wouldest say?Yonder gold-faced birds within the quicksilver-resplendent deep:Launching forth the hawk, my striving, these to take; what wouldest say?Yonder Nine Smaragdine Bowls of Heaven to quaff at one deep draught,Yet from all ebriety’s fumes free to break; what wouldest say?To an autumn leaf the Sphere hath turned Khiyālī’s countenance;To the Spring of Beauty, that a gift to make; what wouldest say?Khiyālī.
Onewith Realms Eternal this my soul to make; what wouldest say?All Creation’s empire’s fancies to forsake; what wouldest say?Wearing to a hair my frame with bitter sighs and moans, in love,Nestling in the Fair One’s tresses, rest to take; what wouldest say?Yonder gold-faced birds within the quicksilver-resplendent deep:Launching forth the hawk, my striving, these to take; what wouldest say?Yonder Nine Smaragdine Bowls of Heaven to quaff at one deep draught,Yet from all ebriety’s fumes free to break; what wouldest say?To an autumn leaf the Sphere hath turned Khiyālī’s countenance;To the Spring of Beauty, that a gift to make; what wouldest say?Khiyālī.
Onewith Realms Eternal this my soul to make; what wouldest say?All Creation’s empire’s fancies to forsake; what wouldest say?Wearing to a hair my frame with bitter sighs and moans, in love,Nestling in the Fair One’s tresses, rest to take; what wouldest say?Yonder gold-faced birds within the quicksilver-resplendent deep:Launching forth the hawk, my striving, these to take; what wouldest say?Yonder Nine Smaragdine Bowls of Heaven to quaff at one deep draught,Yet from all ebriety’s fumes free to break; what wouldest say?To an autumn leaf the Sphere hath turned Khiyālī’s countenance;To the Spring of Beauty, that a gift to make; what wouldest say?
Khiyālī.
Withlonging fond and vain, why should I make my soul to mourn?One trace of love of earth holds not my heart—all is forsworn.There ready stands the caravan, to Death’s dim realms addrest,E’en now the tinkling of its bells down on my ears is borne.Come then, O bird, my soul, be still, disquiet leave far off;See, how this cage, the body, is with years and suffering worn.But yet, to weary, wasted, sin-stained Shāhī, what of fear?Since Thou’rt the God of Love, the helping Friend of those forlorn!Shāhī.
Withlonging fond and vain, why should I make my soul to mourn?One trace of love of earth holds not my heart—all is forsworn.There ready stands the caravan, to Death’s dim realms addrest,E’en now the tinkling of its bells down on my ears is borne.Come then, O bird, my soul, be still, disquiet leave far off;See, how this cage, the body, is with years and suffering worn.But yet, to weary, wasted, sin-stained Shāhī, what of fear?Since Thou’rt the God of Love, the helping Friend of those forlorn!Shāhī.
Withlonging fond and vain, why should I make my soul to mourn?One trace of love of earth holds not my heart—all is forsworn.There ready stands the caravan, to Death’s dim realms addrest,E’en now the tinkling of its bells down on my ears is borne.Come then, O bird, my soul, be still, disquiet leave far off;See, how this cage, the body, is with years and suffering worn.But yet, to weary, wasted, sin-stained Shāhī, what of fear?Since Thou’rt the God of Love, the helping Friend of those forlorn!
Shāhī.
Obreeze, thou’rt kind, of balm to those whom pangs affright, thou news hast brought,To wounded frame of life, to life of life’s delight thou news hast brought.Thou’st seen the mourning nightingale’s despair in sorrow’s autumn drear,Like springtide days, of smiling roseleaf fresh and bright, thou news hast brought.If I should say thy words are heaven-inspired, in truth, blaspheme I not;Of Faith, whilst unbelief doth earth hold fast and tight, thou news hast brought.They say the loved one comes to soothe the hearts of all her lovers true;If that the case, to yon fair maid of lovers’ plight thou news hast brought.Of rebel demon thou hast cut the hope Suleymān’s throne to gain;That in the sea secure doth lie his Ring of might, thou news hast brought.Fuzūlī, through the parting night, alas, how dark my fortune grew!Like zephyr of the dawn, of shining sun’s fair light thounews hast brought.Fuzūlī.
Obreeze, thou’rt kind, of balm to those whom pangs affright, thou news hast brought,To wounded frame of life, to life of life’s delight thou news hast brought.Thou’st seen the mourning nightingale’s despair in sorrow’s autumn drear,Like springtide days, of smiling roseleaf fresh and bright, thou news hast brought.If I should say thy words are heaven-inspired, in truth, blaspheme I not;Of Faith, whilst unbelief doth earth hold fast and tight, thou news hast brought.They say the loved one comes to soothe the hearts of all her lovers true;If that the case, to yon fair maid of lovers’ plight thou news hast brought.Of rebel demon thou hast cut the hope Suleymān’s throne to gain;That in the sea secure doth lie his Ring of might, thou news hast brought.Fuzūlī, through the parting night, alas, how dark my fortune grew!Like zephyr of the dawn, of shining sun’s fair light thounews hast brought.Fuzūlī.
Obreeze, thou’rt kind, of balm to those whom pangs affright, thou news hast brought,To wounded frame of life, to life of life’s delight thou news hast brought.Thou’st seen the mourning nightingale’s despair in sorrow’s autumn drear,Like springtide days, of smiling roseleaf fresh and bright, thou news hast brought.If I should say thy words are heaven-inspired, in truth, blaspheme I not;Of Faith, whilst unbelief doth earth hold fast and tight, thou news hast brought.They say the loved one comes to soothe the hearts of all her lovers true;If that the case, to yon fair maid of lovers’ plight thou news hast brought.Of rebel demon thou hast cut the hope Suleymān’s throne to gain;That in the sea secure doth lie his Ring of might, thou news hast brought.Fuzūlī, through the parting night, alas, how dark my fortune grew!Like zephyr of the dawn, of shining sun’s fair light thounews hast brought.
Fuzūlī.
OthouPerfect Being, Source whence wisdom’s mysteries arise;Things, the issue of thine essence, show wherein thy nature lies.Manifester of all wisdom, thou art he whose pen of mightHath with rays of stars illumined yonder gleaming page, the skies.That a happy star, indeed, the essence clear of whose bright selfTruly knoweth how the blessings from thy word that flow to prize.But a jewel flawed am faulty I: alas, forever standsBlank the page of my heart’s journal from thought of thy writing wise.In the journal of my actions Evil’s lines are black indeed;When I think of Day of Gathering’s terrors, blood flows from my eyes.Gathering of my tears will form a torrent on the Reckoning Day,If the pearls, my tears, rejecting, he but view them to despise:Pearls my tears are, O Fuzūlī, from the ocean deep of love;But they’re pearls these, oh! most surely, that the Love of Allah buys!Fuzūlī.
OthouPerfect Being, Source whence wisdom’s mysteries arise;Things, the issue of thine essence, show wherein thy nature lies.Manifester of all wisdom, thou art he whose pen of mightHath with rays of stars illumined yonder gleaming page, the skies.That a happy star, indeed, the essence clear of whose bright selfTruly knoweth how the blessings from thy word that flow to prize.But a jewel flawed am faulty I: alas, forever standsBlank the page of my heart’s journal from thought of thy writing wise.In the journal of my actions Evil’s lines are black indeed;When I think of Day of Gathering’s terrors, blood flows from my eyes.Gathering of my tears will form a torrent on the Reckoning Day,If the pearls, my tears, rejecting, he but view them to despise:Pearls my tears are, O Fuzūlī, from the ocean deep of love;But they’re pearls these, oh! most surely, that the Love of Allah buys!Fuzūlī.
OthouPerfect Being, Source whence wisdom’s mysteries arise;Things, the issue of thine essence, show wherein thy nature lies.Manifester of all wisdom, thou art he whose pen of mightHath with rays of stars illumined yonder gleaming page, the skies.That a happy star, indeed, the essence clear of whose bright selfTruly knoweth how the blessings from thy word that flow to prize.But a jewel flawed am faulty I: alas, forever standsBlank the page of my heart’s journal from thought of thy writing wise.In the journal of my actions Evil’s lines are black indeed;When I think of Day of Gathering’s terrors, blood flows from my eyes.Gathering of my tears will form a torrent on the Reckoning Day,If the pearls, my tears, rejecting, he but view them to despise:Pearls my tears are, O Fuzūlī, from the ocean deep of love;But they’re pearls these, oh! most surely, that the Love of Allah buys!
Fuzūlī.
Is’tstrange if beauties’ hearts turn blood through envy of thy cheek most fair?For that which stone to ruby turns is but the radiant sunlight’s glare.Or strange is’t if thine eyelash conquer all the stony-hearted ones?For meet an ebon shaft like that a barb of adamant should bear!Thy cheek’s sun-love hath on the hard, hard hearts of fairy beauties fall’n,And many a steely-eyed one hath received thy bright reflection fair.The casket, thy sweet mouth, doth hold spell-bound thehūrī-faced ones all;The virtue of Suleymān’s Ring was that fays thereto fealty sware.Is’t strange if, seeing thee, they rub their faces lowly midst the dust?That down to Adam bowed the angel throng doth the Qur’ān declare!On many and many a heart of stone have fall’n the pangs of love for thee!A fire that lies in stone concealed is thy heart-burning love’s dread glare!Within her ward, with garments rent, on all sides rosy-cheeked ones stray;Fuzūlī, through those radiant hues, that quarter beams a garden fair.Fuzūlī.
Is’tstrange if beauties’ hearts turn blood through envy of thy cheek most fair?For that which stone to ruby turns is but the radiant sunlight’s glare.Or strange is’t if thine eyelash conquer all the stony-hearted ones?For meet an ebon shaft like that a barb of adamant should bear!Thy cheek’s sun-love hath on the hard, hard hearts of fairy beauties fall’n,And many a steely-eyed one hath received thy bright reflection fair.The casket, thy sweet mouth, doth hold spell-bound thehūrī-faced ones all;The virtue of Suleymān’s Ring was that fays thereto fealty sware.Is’t strange if, seeing thee, they rub their faces lowly midst the dust?That down to Adam bowed the angel throng doth the Qur’ān declare!On many and many a heart of stone have fall’n the pangs of love for thee!A fire that lies in stone concealed is thy heart-burning love’s dread glare!Within her ward, with garments rent, on all sides rosy-cheeked ones stray;Fuzūlī, through those radiant hues, that quarter beams a garden fair.Fuzūlī.
Is’tstrange if beauties’ hearts turn blood through envy of thy cheek most fair?For that which stone to ruby turns is but the radiant sunlight’s glare.Or strange is’t if thine eyelash conquer all the stony-hearted ones?For meet an ebon shaft like that a barb of adamant should bear!Thy cheek’s sun-love hath on the hard, hard hearts of fairy beauties fall’n,And many a steely-eyed one hath received thy bright reflection fair.The casket, thy sweet mouth, doth hold spell-bound thehūrī-faced ones all;The virtue of Suleymān’s Ring was that fays thereto fealty sware.Is’t strange if, seeing thee, they rub their faces lowly midst the dust?That down to Adam bowed the angel throng doth the Qur’ān declare!On many and many a heart of stone have fall’n the pangs of love for thee!A fire that lies in stone concealed is thy heart-burning love’s dread glare!Within her ward, with garments rent, on all sides rosy-cheeked ones stray;Fuzūlī, through those radiant hues, that quarter beams a garden fair.
Fuzūlī.
Fromthe turning of the Sphere my luck hath seen reverse and woe;Blood I’ve drunk, for from my banquet wine arose and forth did go.With the flame, my burning sighs, I’ve lit the wand’ring wildered heart;I’m a fire, doth not all that which turns about me roasted glow?With thy rubies wine contended—oh! how it hath lost its wits!Need ’tis yon ill-mannered wretch’s company that we forego.Yonder Moon saw not my burning’s flame upon the parting day—How can e’er the sun about the taper all night burning know?Every eye that all around tears scatters, thinking of thy shaft,Is an oyster-shell that causeth rain-drops into pearls to grow.Forms my sighing’s smoke a cloud that veils the bright cheek of the moon;Ah! that yon fair Moon will ne’er the veil from off her beauty throw!Ne’er hath ceased the rival e’en within her ward to vex me sore;How say they, Fuzūlī, “There’s in Paradise nor grief nor woe”?Fuzūlī.
Fromthe turning of the Sphere my luck hath seen reverse and woe;Blood I’ve drunk, for from my banquet wine arose and forth did go.With the flame, my burning sighs, I’ve lit the wand’ring wildered heart;I’m a fire, doth not all that which turns about me roasted glow?With thy rubies wine contended—oh! how it hath lost its wits!Need ’tis yon ill-mannered wretch’s company that we forego.Yonder Moon saw not my burning’s flame upon the parting day—How can e’er the sun about the taper all night burning know?Every eye that all around tears scatters, thinking of thy shaft,Is an oyster-shell that causeth rain-drops into pearls to grow.Forms my sighing’s smoke a cloud that veils the bright cheek of the moon;Ah! that yon fair Moon will ne’er the veil from off her beauty throw!Ne’er hath ceased the rival e’en within her ward to vex me sore;How say they, Fuzūlī, “There’s in Paradise nor grief nor woe”?Fuzūlī.
Fromthe turning of the Sphere my luck hath seen reverse and woe;Blood I’ve drunk, for from my banquet wine arose and forth did go.With the flame, my burning sighs, I’ve lit the wand’ring wildered heart;I’m a fire, doth not all that which turns about me roasted glow?With thy rubies wine contended—oh! how it hath lost its wits!Need ’tis yon ill-mannered wretch’s company that we forego.Yonder Moon saw not my burning’s flame upon the parting day—How can e’er the sun about the taper all night burning know?Every eye that all around tears scatters, thinking of thy shaft,Is an oyster-shell that causeth rain-drops into pearls to grow.Forms my sighing’s smoke a cloud that veils the bright cheek of the moon;Ah! that yon fair Moon will ne’er the veil from off her beauty throw!Ne’er hath ceased the rival e’en within her ward to vex me sore;How say they, Fuzūlī, “There’s in Paradise nor grief nor woe”?
Fuzūlī.
AstatelyCypress yesterday her shade threw o’er my head;Her form was heart-ensnaring, heart-delighting her light tread;When speaking, sudden opened she her smiling rubies red,There a pistachio I beheld that drops of candy shed.“This casket can it be a mouth? Ah! deign!” I said; said she:Nay, nay, ’tis balm to cure thy hidden smart; aye, truly thine!”Down o’er her crescents she had pressed the turban she did wear,By which, from many broken hearts, sighs raised she of despair;She loosed her tresses—hid within the cloud her moon so fair,And o’er her visage I beheld the curls of her black hair.“Those curling locks, say, are they then a chain?” I said; said she:That round my cheek, a noose to take thy heart; aye, truly thine!”The taper bright, her cheek, illumined day’s lamp in the sky;The rose’s branch was bent before her figure, cypress-high;She, cypress-like, her foot set down upon the fount, my eye,But many a thorn did pierce her foot she suffered pain thereby.“What thorn unto the roseleaf-foot gives pain?” I said; said she:The lash of thy wet eye doth it impart; aye, truly thine!”Promenading, to the garden did that jasmine-cheeked one go;With many a bright adornment in the early springtide’s glow;The hyacinths their musky locks did o’er the roses throw;That Picture had tattooed her lovely feet rose-red to show.“The tulip’s hue whence doth the dog-rose gain?” I said; said she:“From blood of thine shed ’neath my glance’s dart; aye, truly thine!”To earth within her ward my tears in torrents rolled apace;The accents of her ruby lips my soul crazed by their grace;My heart was taken in the snare her musky locks did trace,That very moment when my eyes fell on her curls and face.“Doth Scorpio the bright Moon’s House contain?” I said; said she:“Fear! threatening this Conjunction dread, thy part; aye, truly thine!”Her hair with ambergris perfumed was waving o’er her cheek,On many grieving, passioned souls it cruel woe did wreak;Her graceful form and many charms my wildered heart made weak;The eye beheld her figure fair, then heart and soul did seek.“Ah! what bright thing this cypress of the plain?” I said; said she:“Tis that which thy fixed gaze beholds apart; aye, truly thine!”When their veil her tulip and dog-rose had let down yesterday,The morning breeze tore off that screen which o’er these flow’rets lay;Came forth that Envy of the sun in garden fair to stray,Like lustrous pearls the dew-drops shone, a bright and glistening spray.“Pearls, say, are these, aye pearls from ‘Aden’s main?” I said; said she:“Tears, these, of poor Fuzūlī, sad of heart; aye, truly thine!”Fuzūlī.
AstatelyCypress yesterday her shade threw o’er my head;Her form was heart-ensnaring, heart-delighting her light tread;When speaking, sudden opened she her smiling rubies red,There a pistachio I beheld that drops of candy shed.“This casket can it be a mouth? Ah! deign!” I said; said she:Nay, nay, ’tis balm to cure thy hidden smart; aye, truly thine!”Down o’er her crescents she had pressed the turban she did wear,By which, from many broken hearts, sighs raised she of despair;She loosed her tresses—hid within the cloud her moon so fair,And o’er her visage I beheld the curls of her black hair.“Those curling locks, say, are they then a chain?” I said; said she:That round my cheek, a noose to take thy heart; aye, truly thine!”The taper bright, her cheek, illumined day’s lamp in the sky;The rose’s branch was bent before her figure, cypress-high;She, cypress-like, her foot set down upon the fount, my eye,But many a thorn did pierce her foot she suffered pain thereby.“What thorn unto the roseleaf-foot gives pain?” I said; said she:The lash of thy wet eye doth it impart; aye, truly thine!”Promenading, to the garden did that jasmine-cheeked one go;With many a bright adornment in the early springtide’s glow;The hyacinths their musky locks did o’er the roses throw;That Picture had tattooed her lovely feet rose-red to show.“The tulip’s hue whence doth the dog-rose gain?” I said; said she:“From blood of thine shed ’neath my glance’s dart; aye, truly thine!”To earth within her ward my tears in torrents rolled apace;The accents of her ruby lips my soul crazed by their grace;My heart was taken in the snare her musky locks did trace,That very moment when my eyes fell on her curls and face.“Doth Scorpio the bright Moon’s House contain?” I said; said she:“Fear! threatening this Conjunction dread, thy part; aye, truly thine!”Her hair with ambergris perfumed was waving o’er her cheek,On many grieving, passioned souls it cruel woe did wreak;Her graceful form and many charms my wildered heart made weak;The eye beheld her figure fair, then heart and soul did seek.“Ah! what bright thing this cypress of the plain?” I said; said she:“Tis that which thy fixed gaze beholds apart; aye, truly thine!”When their veil her tulip and dog-rose had let down yesterday,The morning breeze tore off that screen which o’er these flow’rets lay;Came forth that Envy of the sun in garden fair to stray,Like lustrous pearls the dew-drops shone, a bright and glistening spray.“Pearls, say, are these, aye pearls from ‘Aden’s main?” I said; said she:“Tears, these, of poor Fuzūlī, sad of heart; aye, truly thine!”Fuzūlī.
AstatelyCypress yesterday her shade threw o’er my head;Her form was heart-ensnaring, heart-delighting her light tread;When speaking, sudden opened she her smiling rubies red,There a pistachio I beheld that drops of candy shed.“This casket can it be a mouth? Ah! deign!” I said; said she:Nay, nay, ’tis balm to cure thy hidden smart; aye, truly thine!”
Down o’er her crescents she had pressed the turban she did wear,By which, from many broken hearts, sighs raised she of despair;She loosed her tresses—hid within the cloud her moon so fair,And o’er her visage I beheld the curls of her black hair.“Those curling locks, say, are they then a chain?” I said; said she:That round my cheek, a noose to take thy heart; aye, truly thine!”
The taper bright, her cheek, illumined day’s lamp in the sky;The rose’s branch was bent before her figure, cypress-high;She, cypress-like, her foot set down upon the fount, my eye,But many a thorn did pierce her foot she suffered pain thereby.“What thorn unto the roseleaf-foot gives pain?” I said; said she:The lash of thy wet eye doth it impart; aye, truly thine!”
Promenading, to the garden did that jasmine-cheeked one go;With many a bright adornment in the early springtide’s glow;The hyacinths their musky locks did o’er the roses throw;That Picture had tattooed her lovely feet rose-red to show.“The tulip’s hue whence doth the dog-rose gain?” I said; said she:“From blood of thine shed ’neath my glance’s dart; aye, truly thine!”
To earth within her ward my tears in torrents rolled apace;The accents of her ruby lips my soul crazed by their grace;My heart was taken in the snare her musky locks did trace,That very moment when my eyes fell on her curls and face.“Doth Scorpio the bright Moon’s House contain?” I said; said she:“Fear! threatening this Conjunction dread, thy part; aye, truly thine!”
Her hair with ambergris perfumed was waving o’er her cheek,On many grieving, passioned souls it cruel woe did wreak;Her graceful form and many charms my wildered heart made weak;The eye beheld her figure fair, then heart and soul did seek.“Ah! what bright thing this cypress of the plain?” I said; said she:“Tis that which thy fixed gaze beholds apart; aye, truly thine!”
When their veil her tulip and dog-rose had let down yesterday,The morning breeze tore off that screen which o’er these flow’rets lay;Came forth that Envy of the sun in garden fair to stray,Like lustrous pearls the dew-drops shone, a bright and glistening spray.“Pearls, say, are these, aye pearls from ‘Aden’s main?” I said; said she:“Tears, these, of poor Fuzūlī, sad of heart; aye, truly thine!”
Fuzūlī.
Attarwithin vase of crystal, such thy fair form silken-gowned;And thy breast is gleaming water, where the bubbles clear abound;Thou so bright none who may gaze upon thee on the earth is found;Bold wert thou to cast the veil off, standing forth with garland crowned:Not a doubt but woe and ruin all the wide world must confound!Lures the heart thy gilded palace, points it to thy lips the way;Eagerly the ear doth listen for the words thy rubies say;Near thy hair the comb remaineth, I despairing far away;Bites the comb, each curling ringlet, when it through thy locks doth stray:Jealous at its sight, my heart’s thread agonized goes curling round.Ah! her face the rose, her shift rose-hued, her trousers red their shade;With its flame burns us the fiery garb in which thou art arrayed.Ne’er was born of Adam’s children one like thee, O cruel maid!Moon and Sun, in beauty’s circle, at thy fairness stand dismayed:Seems it thou the Sun for mother and the Moon for sire hast owned.Captive bound in thy red fillet, grieve I through thy musky hair;Prone I ’neath those golden anklets which thy silvern limbs do wear;Think not I am like thy fillet, empty of thy grace, O fair!Rather to the golden chain, which hangs thy cheek round, me compare:In my sad heart pangs a thousand from thy glance’s shafts are found.Eyes with antimony darkened, hands with hinna crimson dyed;Through these beauties vain and wanton like to thee was ne’er a bride.Bows of poplar green, thy painted brows; thy glances shafts provide.Poor Fuzūlī for thine eyes and eyebrows aye hath longing cried:That the bird from bow and arrow flees not, well may all astound.Fuzūlī.
Attarwithin vase of crystal, such thy fair form silken-gowned;And thy breast is gleaming water, where the bubbles clear abound;Thou so bright none who may gaze upon thee on the earth is found;Bold wert thou to cast the veil off, standing forth with garland crowned:Not a doubt but woe and ruin all the wide world must confound!Lures the heart thy gilded palace, points it to thy lips the way;Eagerly the ear doth listen for the words thy rubies say;Near thy hair the comb remaineth, I despairing far away;Bites the comb, each curling ringlet, when it through thy locks doth stray:Jealous at its sight, my heart’s thread agonized goes curling round.Ah! her face the rose, her shift rose-hued, her trousers red their shade;With its flame burns us the fiery garb in which thou art arrayed.Ne’er was born of Adam’s children one like thee, O cruel maid!Moon and Sun, in beauty’s circle, at thy fairness stand dismayed:Seems it thou the Sun for mother and the Moon for sire hast owned.Captive bound in thy red fillet, grieve I through thy musky hair;Prone I ’neath those golden anklets which thy silvern limbs do wear;Think not I am like thy fillet, empty of thy grace, O fair!Rather to the golden chain, which hangs thy cheek round, me compare:In my sad heart pangs a thousand from thy glance’s shafts are found.Eyes with antimony darkened, hands with hinna crimson dyed;Through these beauties vain and wanton like to thee was ne’er a bride.Bows of poplar green, thy painted brows; thy glances shafts provide.Poor Fuzūlī for thine eyes and eyebrows aye hath longing cried:That the bird from bow and arrow flees not, well may all astound.Fuzūlī.
Attarwithin vase of crystal, such thy fair form silken-gowned;And thy breast is gleaming water, where the bubbles clear abound;Thou so bright none who may gaze upon thee on the earth is found;Bold wert thou to cast the veil off, standing forth with garland crowned:Not a doubt but woe and ruin all the wide world must confound!
Lures the heart thy gilded palace, points it to thy lips the way;Eagerly the ear doth listen for the words thy rubies say;Near thy hair the comb remaineth, I despairing far away;Bites the comb, each curling ringlet, when it through thy locks doth stray:Jealous at its sight, my heart’s thread agonized goes curling round.
Ah! her face the rose, her shift rose-hued, her trousers red their shade;With its flame burns us the fiery garb in which thou art arrayed.Ne’er was born of Adam’s children one like thee, O cruel maid!Moon and Sun, in beauty’s circle, at thy fairness stand dismayed:Seems it thou the Sun for mother and the Moon for sire hast owned.
Captive bound in thy red fillet, grieve I through thy musky hair;Prone I ’neath those golden anklets which thy silvern limbs do wear;Think not I am like thy fillet, empty of thy grace, O fair!Rather to the golden chain, which hangs thy cheek round, me compare:In my sad heart pangs a thousand from thy glance’s shafts are found.
Eyes with antimony darkened, hands with hinna crimson dyed;Through these beauties vain and wanton like to thee was ne’er a bride.Bows of poplar green, thy painted brows; thy glances shafts provide.Poor Fuzūlī for thine eyes and eyebrows aye hath longing cried:That the bird from bow and arrow flees not, well may all astound.
Fuzūlī.
Yieldnot the soul to pang of Love, for Love’s the soul’s fierce glow;That Love’s the torment of the soul doth all the wide world know.Seek not for gain from fancy wild of pang of Love at all;For all that comes from fancy wild of Love’s pang is grief’s throe.Each curving eyebrow is a blood-stained sabre thee to slay;Each dusky curl, a deadly venomed snake to work thee woe.Lovely, indeed, the forms of moon-like maidens are to see—Lovely to see, but ah! the end doth bitter anguish show.From this I know full well that torment dire in love abides,That all who lovers are, engrossed with sighs, rove to and fro.Call not to mind the pupils of the black-eyed damsels bright,With thought, “I’m man”; be not deceived, ’tis blood they drink, I trow.E’en if Fuzūlī should declare, “In fair ones there is troth,”Be not deceived—“A poet’s words are falsehoods all men know.”Fuzūlī.
Yieldnot the soul to pang of Love, for Love’s the soul’s fierce glow;That Love’s the torment of the soul doth all the wide world know.Seek not for gain from fancy wild of pang of Love at all;For all that comes from fancy wild of Love’s pang is grief’s throe.Each curving eyebrow is a blood-stained sabre thee to slay;Each dusky curl, a deadly venomed snake to work thee woe.Lovely, indeed, the forms of moon-like maidens are to see—Lovely to see, but ah! the end doth bitter anguish show.From this I know full well that torment dire in love abides,That all who lovers are, engrossed with sighs, rove to and fro.Call not to mind the pupils of the black-eyed damsels bright,With thought, “I’m man”; be not deceived, ’tis blood they drink, I trow.E’en if Fuzūlī should declare, “In fair ones there is troth,”Be not deceived—“A poet’s words are falsehoods all men know.”Fuzūlī.
Yieldnot the soul to pang of Love, for Love’s the soul’s fierce glow;That Love’s the torment of the soul doth all the wide world know.Seek not for gain from fancy wild of pang of Love at all;For all that comes from fancy wild of Love’s pang is grief’s throe.Each curving eyebrow is a blood-stained sabre thee to slay;Each dusky curl, a deadly venomed snake to work thee woe.Lovely, indeed, the forms of moon-like maidens are to see—Lovely to see, but ah! the end doth bitter anguish show.From this I know full well that torment dire in love abides,That all who lovers are, engrossed with sighs, rove to and fro.Call not to mind the pupils of the black-eyed damsels bright,With thought, “I’m man”; be not deceived, ’tis blood they drink, I trow.E’en if Fuzūlī should declare, “In fair ones there is troth,”Be not deceived—“A poet’s words are falsehoods all men know.”
Fuzūlī.
QuothMejnūn: “O sole friend of true plight!With counsel many have tried me to guide right;Many with wisdom gifted have advice shown,But yet this fiend hath been by no one o’erthrown;Much gold has on the earth been strewn round,But yet this Stone of Alchemist by none’s found.Collyrium I know that doth increase light,What use though is it if the eye doth lack sight?I know that greatest kindliness in thee lies,What use, though, when my fate doth ever dark rise?Upon my gloomy fortune I no faith lay,Impossible my hope appeareth alway.Ah! though in this thou shouldest ever hard toil,The end at length will surely all thy plans foil.No kindliness to me my closest friends show;Who is a friend to him whom he doth deem foe?I know my fortune evil is and woe-fraught;The search for solace is to me, save pain, naught.There is a gazel that doth well my lot show,Which constant I repeat where’er my steps go.”Fuzūlī.
QuothMejnūn: “O sole friend of true plight!With counsel many have tried me to guide right;Many with wisdom gifted have advice shown,But yet this fiend hath been by no one o’erthrown;Much gold has on the earth been strewn round,But yet this Stone of Alchemist by none’s found.Collyrium I know that doth increase light,What use though is it if the eye doth lack sight?I know that greatest kindliness in thee lies,What use, though, when my fate doth ever dark rise?Upon my gloomy fortune I no faith lay,Impossible my hope appeareth alway.Ah! though in this thou shouldest ever hard toil,The end at length will surely all thy plans foil.No kindliness to me my closest friends show;Who is a friend to him whom he doth deem foe?I know my fortune evil is and woe-fraught;The search for solace is to me, save pain, naught.There is a gazel that doth well my lot show,Which constant I repeat where’er my steps go.”Fuzūlī.
QuothMejnūn: “O sole friend of true plight!With counsel many have tried me to guide right;Many with wisdom gifted have advice shown,But yet this fiend hath been by no one o’erthrown;Much gold has on the earth been strewn round,But yet this Stone of Alchemist by none’s found.Collyrium I know that doth increase light,What use though is it if the eye doth lack sight?I know that greatest kindliness in thee lies,What use, though, when my fate doth ever dark rise?Upon my gloomy fortune I no faith lay,Impossible my hope appeareth alway.Ah! though in this thou shouldest ever hard toil,The end at length will surely all thy plans foil.No kindliness to me my closest friends show;Who is a friend to him whom he doth deem foe?I know my fortune evil is and woe-fraught;The search for solace is to me, save pain, naught.There is a gazel that doth well my lot show,Which constant I repeat where’er my steps go.”
Fuzūlī.
Fromwhomsoever I’ve sought for troth but bitterest disdain I’ve seen;Whome’er within this faithless world I’ve trusted, all most vain I’ve seen.To whomsoe’er I’ve told my woes, in hope to find some balm therefor,Than e’en myself o’erwhelmed and sunk in deeper, sadder pain I’ve seen.From out mine aching heart no one hath driven cruel grief away,That those my friends of pleasure’s hour affection did but feign I’ve seen.Although I’ve clutched its mantle, life hath turned away its face from me;And though I faith from mirror hoped, there persecuted swain I’ve seen.At gate of hope I set my foot, bewilderment held forth its hand,Alas! whene’er hope’s thread I’ve seized, in hand the serpent’s train I’ve seen.A hundred times the Sphere hath shown to me my darksome fortune’s star;Whene’er my horoscope I’ve cast, but blackest, deepest stain I’ve seen.Fuzūlī, blush not then, should I from mankind turn my face away;For why? From all to whom I’ve looked, but reason sad too plain I’ve seen.Fuzūlī.
Fromwhomsoever I’ve sought for troth but bitterest disdain I’ve seen;Whome’er within this faithless world I’ve trusted, all most vain I’ve seen.To whomsoe’er I’ve told my woes, in hope to find some balm therefor,Than e’en myself o’erwhelmed and sunk in deeper, sadder pain I’ve seen.From out mine aching heart no one hath driven cruel grief away,That those my friends of pleasure’s hour affection did but feign I’ve seen.Although I’ve clutched its mantle, life hath turned away its face from me;And though I faith from mirror hoped, there persecuted swain I’ve seen.At gate of hope I set my foot, bewilderment held forth its hand,Alas! whene’er hope’s thread I’ve seized, in hand the serpent’s train I’ve seen.A hundred times the Sphere hath shown to me my darksome fortune’s star;Whene’er my horoscope I’ve cast, but blackest, deepest stain I’ve seen.Fuzūlī, blush not then, should I from mankind turn my face away;For why? From all to whom I’ve looked, but reason sad too plain I’ve seen.Fuzūlī.
Fromwhomsoever I’ve sought for troth but bitterest disdain I’ve seen;Whome’er within this faithless world I’ve trusted, all most vain I’ve seen.To whomsoe’er I’ve told my woes, in hope to find some balm therefor,Than e’en myself o’erwhelmed and sunk in deeper, sadder pain I’ve seen.From out mine aching heart no one hath driven cruel grief away,That those my friends of pleasure’s hour affection did but feign I’ve seen.Although I’ve clutched its mantle, life hath turned away its face from me;And though I faith from mirror hoped, there persecuted swain I’ve seen.At gate of hope I set my foot, bewilderment held forth its hand,Alas! whene’er hope’s thread I’ve seized, in hand the serpent’s train I’ve seen.A hundred times the Sphere hath shown to me my darksome fortune’s star;Whene’er my horoscope I’ve cast, but blackest, deepest stain I’ve seen.Fuzūlī, blush not then, should I from mankind turn my face away;For why? From all to whom I’ve looked, but reason sad too plain I’ve seen.
Fuzūlī.
Hisgrief and mourning Zeyd renewèd alway,From bitter wailing ceased he not, he wept aye.That faithful, loving, ever-constant friend dear,One night, when was the rise of the True Dawn near,Feeling that in his wasted frame no strength stayed,Had gone, and down upon that grave himself laid.There, in his sleep, he saw a wondrous fair sight,A lovely garden, and two beauties, moon-bright;Through transport rapturous, their cheeks with light glow;Far distant now, all fear of anguish, pain, woe;With happiness and ecstasy and joy blest,From rivals’ persecutions these have found rest;A thousand angel-forms to each fair beauty,With single heart, perform the servant’s duty.He, wondering, question made: “What Moons so bright these?What lofty, honored Sovereigns of might these?What garden, most exalted, is this parterre?What throng so bright and beautiful, the throng there?”They answer gave: “Lo! Eden’s shining bowers these;That radiant throng, the Heaven-born Youths and Hūrīs;These two resplendent forms, bright as the fair moon,These are the ever-faithful—Leylī, Mejnūn!Since pure within the vale of love they sojourned,And kept that purity till they to dust turned,Are Eden’s everlasting bowers their home now,To them the Hūrīs and the Youths as slaves bow:Since these, while on the earth, all woe resigned met,And patience aye before them in each grief set,When forth they fled from this false, faithless world’s bound,From all those pangs and sorrows they release found!”Fuzūlī.
Hisgrief and mourning Zeyd renewèd alway,From bitter wailing ceased he not, he wept aye.That faithful, loving, ever-constant friend dear,One night, when was the rise of the True Dawn near,Feeling that in his wasted frame no strength stayed,Had gone, and down upon that grave himself laid.There, in his sleep, he saw a wondrous fair sight,A lovely garden, and two beauties, moon-bright;Through transport rapturous, their cheeks with light glow;Far distant now, all fear of anguish, pain, woe;With happiness and ecstasy and joy blest,From rivals’ persecutions these have found rest;A thousand angel-forms to each fair beauty,With single heart, perform the servant’s duty.He, wondering, question made: “What Moons so bright these?What lofty, honored Sovereigns of might these?What garden, most exalted, is this parterre?What throng so bright and beautiful, the throng there?”They answer gave: “Lo! Eden’s shining bowers these;That radiant throng, the Heaven-born Youths and Hūrīs;These two resplendent forms, bright as the fair moon,These are the ever-faithful—Leylī, Mejnūn!Since pure within the vale of love they sojourned,And kept that purity till they to dust turned,Are Eden’s everlasting bowers their home now,To them the Hūrīs and the Youths as slaves bow:Since these, while on the earth, all woe resigned met,And patience aye before them in each grief set,When forth they fled from this false, faithless world’s bound,From all those pangs and sorrows they release found!”Fuzūlī.
Hisgrief and mourning Zeyd renewèd alway,From bitter wailing ceased he not, he wept aye.That faithful, loving, ever-constant friend dear,One night, when was the rise of the True Dawn near,Feeling that in his wasted frame no strength stayed,Had gone, and down upon that grave himself laid.There, in his sleep, he saw a wondrous fair sight,A lovely garden, and two beauties, moon-bright;Through transport rapturous, their cheeks with light glow;Far distant now, all fear of anguish, pain, woe;With happiness and ecstasy and joy blest,From rivals’ persecutions these have found rest;A thousand angel-forms to each fair beauty,With single heart, perform the servant’s duty.He, wondering, question made: “What Moons so bright these?What lofty, honored Sovereigns of might these?What garden, most exalted, is this parterre?What throng so bright and beautiful, the throng there?”They answer gave: “Lo! Eden’s shining bowers these;That radiant throng, the Heaven-born Youths and Hūrīs;These two resplendent forms, bright as the fair moon,These are the ever-faithful—Leylī, Mejnūn!Since pure within the vale of love they sojourned,And kept that purity till they to dust turned,Are Eden’s everlasting bowers their home now,To them the Hūrīs and the Youths as slaves bow:Since these, while on the earth, all woe resigned met,And patience aye before them in each grief set,When forth they fled from this false, faithless world’s bound,From all those pangs and sorrows they release found!”
Fuzūlī.
Ibeganlove’s art to study, divers chapters did I read;Longing’s texts and parting’s sections a whole book would fill indeed;Union formed a short abridgment, but the pangs of love for theeHave their commentaries endless made each other to succeed.O Nishānī, hath the master, Love, thus truly taught to thee:“This a question hard whose answer from the loved one must proceed!”Nishānī.
Ibeganlove’s art to study, divers chapters did I read;Longing’s texts and parting’s sections a whole book would fill indeed;Union formed a short abridgment, but the pangs of love for theeHave their commentaries endless made each other to succeed.O Nishānī, hath the master, Love, thus truly taught to thee:“This a question hard whose answer from the loved one must proceed!”Nishānī.
Ibeganlove’s art to study, divers chapters did I read;Longing’s texts and parting’s sections a whole book would fill indeed;Union formed a short abridgment, but the pangs of love for theeHave their commentaries endless made each other to succeed.O Nishānī, hath the master, Love, thus truly taught to thee:“This a question hard whose answer from the loved one must proceed!”
Nishānī.
Handin hand thy mole hath plotted with thy hair,Many hearts made captive have they in their snare.Thou in nature art an angel whom the LordIn his might the human form hath caused to wear.When he dealt out ’mongst his creatures union’s tray,Absence from thee, God to me gave as my share.Thou would’st deem that Power, the limner, for thy brows,O’er the lights, thine eyes, twonūnshad painted fair.O Selīmī, on the sweetheart’s cheek the downIs thy sighs’ fume, which, alas, hath rested there.Selīmī.
Handin hand thy mole hath plotted with thy hair,Many hearts made captive have they in their snare.Thou in nature art an angel whom the LordIn his might the human form hath caused to wear.When he dealt out ’mongst his creatures union’s tray,Absence from thee, God to me gave as my share.Thou would’st deem that Power, the limner, for thy brows,O’er the lights, thine eyes, twonūnshad painted fair.O Selīmī, on the sweetheart’s cheek the downIs thy sighs’ fume, which, alas, hath rested there.Selīmī.
Handin hand thy mole hath plotted with thy hair,Many hearts made captive have they in their snare.Thou in nature art an angel whom the LordIn his might the human form hath caused to wear.When he dealt out ’mongst his creatures union’s tray,Absence from thee, God to me gave as my share.Thou would’st deem that Power, the limner, for thy brows,O’er the lights, thine eyes, twonūnshad painted fair.O Selīmī, on the sweetheart’s cheek the downIs thy sighs’ fume, which, alas, hath rested there.
Selīmī.
GAZEL
Ta’enmy sense and soul have those thy Leylī locks, thy glance’s spell,Me, their Mejnūn, ’midst of love’s wild dreary desert they impel.Since mine eyes have seen the beauty of the Joseph of thy grace,Sense and heart have fall’n and lingered in thy chin’s sweet dimple-well.Heart and soul of mine are broken through my passion for thy lips;From the hand of patience struck they honor’s glass, to earth it fell.The mirage, thy lips, O sweetheart, that doth like to water show;For, through longing, making thirsty, vainly they my life dispel.Since Selīmī hath the pearls, thy teeth, been praising, sense and heartHave his head and soul abandoned, plunging ’neath love’s ocean-swell.Selīmī.
Ta’enmy sense and soul have those thy Leylī locks, thy glance’s spell,Me, their Mejnūn, ’midst of love’s wild dreary desert they impel.Since mine eyes have seen the beauty of the Joseph of thy grace,Sense and heart have fall’n and lingered in thy chin’s sweet dimple-well.Heart and soul of mine are broken through my passion for thy lips;From the hand of patience struck they honor’s glass, to earth it fell.The mirage, thy lips, O sweetheart, that doth like to water show;For, through longing, making thirsty, vainly they my life dispel.Since Selīmī hath the pearls, thy teeth, been praising, sense and heartHave his head and soul abandoned, plunging ’neath love’s ocean-swell.Selīmī.
Ta’enmy sense and soul have those thy Leylī locks, thy glance’s spell,Me, their Mejnūn, ’midst of love’s wild dreary desert they impel.Since mine eyes have seen the beauty of the Joseph of thy grace,Sense and heart have fall’n and lingered in thy chin’s sweet dimple-well.Heart and soul of mine are broken through my passion for thy lips;From the hand of patience struck they honor’s glass, to earth it fell.The mirage, thy lips, O sweetheart, that doth like to water show;For, through longing, making thirsty, vainly they my life dispel.Since Selīmī hath the pearls, thy teeth, been praising, sense and heartHave his head and soul abandoned, plunging ’neath love’s ocean-swell.
Selīmī.
Thyveil raise, shake from cheeks those locks of thine then;Unclouded beauty’s sun and moon bid shine then.But one glance from those soft and drooping eyes throw,The heart through joy to drunkenness consign then.Were I thy lip to suck, ’twould heal the sick heart;Be kind, an answer give, Physician mine, then.Beware lest evil glance thy beauty’s rose smite,From ill-eyed rival careful it confine then.O heart, this is Life’s Water ’midst of darkness,In night’s gloom hidden, drink the ruby wine then.My love’s down grows upon her rosy-hued cheek,A book write on the woes it doth enshrine then.Thy wine-hued lip, O love, grant to Selīmī—And by thy parting’s shaft my tears make wine then.Selīmī.
Thyveil raise, shake from cheeks those locks of thine then;Unclouded beauty’s sun and moon bid shine then.But one glance from those soft and drooping eyes throw,The heart through joy to drunkenness consign then.Were I thy lip to suck, ’twould heal the sick heart;Be kind, an answer give, Physician mine, then.Beware lest evil glance thy beauty’s rose smite,From ill-eyed rival careful it confine then.O heart, this is Life’s Water ’midst of darkness,In night’s gloom hidden, drink the ruby wine then.My love’s down grows upon her rosy-hued cheek,A book write on the woes it doth enshrine then.Thy wine-hued lip, O love, grant to Selīmī—And by thy parting’s shaft my tears make wine then.Selīmī.
Thyveil raise, shake from cheeks those locks of thine then;Unclouded beauty’s sun and moon bid shine then.But one glance from those soft and drooping eyes throw,The heart through joy to drunkenness consign then.Were I thy lip to suck, ’twould heal the sick heart;Be kind, an answer give, Physician mine, then.Beware lest evil glance thy beauty’s rose smite,From ill-eyed rival careful it confine then.O heart, this is Life’s Water ’midst of darkness,In night’s gloom hidden, drink the ruby wine then.My love’s down grows upon her rosy-hued cheek,A book write on the woes it doth enshrine then.Thy wine-hued lip, O love, grant to Selīmī—And by thy parting’s shaft my tears make wine then.
Selīmī.