[Metrical Translation by E. J. W. Gibb, M. R. A. S.]
Allthe Universe, one mighty sign, is shown;God hath myriads of creative acts unknown:None hath seen them, of the races jinn and men,None hath news brought from that realm far off from ken.Never shall thy mind or reason reach that strand,Nor can tongue the King’s name utter of that land.Since ’tis his each nothingness with life to vest,Trouble is there ne’er at all to his behest.Eighteen thousand worlds, from end to end,Do not with him one atom’s worth transcend.‘Āshiq Pasha.
Allthe Universe, one mighty sign, is shown;God hath myriads of creative acts unknown:None hath seen them, of the races jinn and men,None hath news brought from that realm far off from ken.Never shall thy mind or reason reach that strand,Nor can tongue the King’s name utter of that land.Since ’tis his each nothingness with life to vest,Trouble is there ne’er at all to his behest.Eighteen thousand worlds, from end to end,Do not with him one atom’s worth transcend.‘Āshiq Pasha.
Allthe Universe, one mighty sign, is shown;God hath myriads of creative acts unknown:None hath seen them, of the races jinn and men,None hath news brought from that realm far off from ken.Never shall thy mind or reason reach that strand,Nor can tongue the King’s name utter of that land.Since ’tis his each nothingness with life to vest,Trouble is there ne’er at all to his behest.Eighteen thousand worlds, from end to end,Do not with him one atom’s worth transcend.
‘Āshiq Pasha.
Upand sing! O ‘anqā-natured nightingale!High in every business doth thy worth prevail:Sing! for good the words are that from thee proceed;Whatsoever thou dost say is prized indeed.Then, since words to utter thee so well doth suit,Pity were it surely if thy tongue were mute.Blow a blast in utt’rance that the Trusted One,When he hears, ten thousand times may cry: “Well done!”Up and sing! O bird most holy! up and sing!Unto us a story fair and beauteous bring.Let not opportunity slip by, silent there;Unto us the beauty of each word declare.Seldom opportunities like this with thee lie;Sing then, for th’ occasion now is thine, so hie!Lose not opportunities that thy hand doth find,For some day full suddenly Death thy tongue shall bind.Of how many singers, eloquent of words,Bound have Death and Doom the tongues fast in their cords!Lose not, then, th’ occasion, but to joy look now,For one day thy station ’neath earth seek must thou.While the tongue yet floweth, now thy words collect;Them as Meaning’s taper ’midst the feast erect,That thy words, remaining long time after thee,To the listeners’ hearing shall thy record be.Thy mementoes lustrous biding here behind,Through them they’ll recall thee, O my soul, to mind.Those who’ve left mementoes ne’er have died in truth;Those who’ve left no traces ne’er have lived in sooth.Surely with this object didst thou come to earth,That to mind should ever be recalled thy worth.“May I die not!” say’st thou, one of noble race?Strive, then, that thou leavest here a name of grace.Ahmedī.
Upand sing! O ‘anqā-natured nightingale!High in every business doth thy worth prevail:Sing! for good the words are that from thee proceed;Whatsoever thou dost say is prized indeed.Then, since words to utter thee so well doth suit,Pity were it surely if thy tongue were mute.Blow a blast in utt’rance that the Trusted One,When he hears, ten thousand times may cry: “Well done!”Up and sing! O bird most holy! up and sing!Unto us a story fair and beauteous bring.Let not opportunity slip by, silent there;Unto us the beauty of each word declare.Seldom opportunities like this with thee lie;Sing then, for th’ occasion now is thine, so hie!Lose not opportunities that thy hand doth find,For some day full suddenly Death thy tongue shall bind.Of how many singers, eloquent of words,Bound have Death and Doom the tongues fast in their cords!Lose not, then, th’ occasion, but to joy look now,For one day thy station ’neath earth seek must thou.While the tongue yet floweth, now thy words collect;Them as Meaning’s taper ’midst the feast erect,That thy words, remaining long time after thee,To the listeners’ hearing shall thy record be.Thy mementoes lustrous biding here behind,Through them they’ll recall thee, O my soul, to mind.Those who’ve left mementoes ne’er have died in truth;Those who’ve left no traces ne’er have lived in sooth.Surely with this object didst thou come to earth,That to mind should ever be recalled thy worth.“May I die not!” say’st thou, one of noble race?Strive, then, that thou leavest here a name of grace.Ahmedī.
Upand sing! O ‘anqā-natured nightingale!High in every business doth thy worth prevail:Sing! for good the words are that from thee proceed;Whatsoever thou dost say is prized indeed.Then, since words to utter thee so well doth suit,Pity were it surely if thy tongue were mute.Blow a blast in utt’rance that the Trusted One,When he hears, ten thousand times may cry: “Well done!”Up and sing! O bird most holy! up and sing!Unto us a story fair and beauteous bring.Let not opportunity slip by, silent there;Unto us the beauty of each word declare.Seldom opportunities like this with thee lie;Sing then, for th’ occasion now is thine, so hie!Lose not opportunities that thy hand doth find,For some day full suddenly Death thy tongue shall bind.Of how many singers, eloquent of words,Bound have Death and Doom the tongues fast in their cords!Lose not, then, th’ occasion, but to joy look now,For one day thy station ’neath earth seek must thou.While the tongue yet floweth, now thy words collect;Them as Meaning’s taper ’midst the feast erect,That thy words, remaining long time after thee,To the listeners’ hearing shall thy record be.Thy mementoes lustrous biding here behind,Through them they’ll recall thee, O my soul, to mind.Those who’ve left mementoes ne’er have died in truth;Those who’ve left no traces ne’er have lived in sooth.Surely with this object didst thou come to earth,That to mind should ever be recalled thy worth.“May I die not!” say’st thou, one of noble race?Strive, then, that thou leavest here a name of grace.
Ahmedī.
Onceunto his Vezīr quoth the crownèd King:“Thou, who in my world-realm knowest everything!With my sword I’ve conquered many and many a shore;Still I sigh right sorely: ‘Ah! to conquer more!’Great desire is with me realms to overthrow;Through this cause I comfort ne’er a moment know.Is there yet a country whither we may wend,Where as yet our mighty sway doth not extend,That we may it conquer, conquer it outright?Ours shall be the whole earth—ours it shall be quite.”Then, when heard the Vezīr what the King did say,Quoth he: “Realm-o’erthrowing Monarch, live for aye!May the Mighty Ruler set thy crown on high,That thy throne may ever all assaults defy!May thy life’s rose-garden never fade away!May thy glory’s orchard never see decay!Thou’st the Peopled Quarter ta’en from end to end;All of its inhabitants slaves before thee bend.There’s on earth no city, neither any land,That is not, O Monarch, under thy command.In the Peopled Quarter Seven Climes are known,And o’er all of these thy sway extends alone!”Ahmedī.
Onceunto his Vezīr quoth the crownèd King:“Thou, who in my world-realm knowest everything!With my sword I’ve conquered many and many a shore;Still I sigh right sorely: ‘Ah! to conquer more!’Great desire is with me realms to overthrow;Through this cause I comfort ne’er a moment know.Is there yet a country whither we may wend,Where as yet our mighty sway doth not extend,That we may it conquer, conquer it outright?Ours shall be the whole earth—ours it shall be quite.”Then, when heard the Vezīr what the King did say,Quoth he: “Realm-o’erthrowing Monarch, live for aye!May the Mighty Ruler set thy crown on high,That thy throne may ever all assaults defy!May thy life’s rose-garden never fade away!May thy glory’s orchard never see decay!Thou’st the Peopled Quarter ta’en from end to end;All of its inhabitants slaves before thee bend.There’s on earth no city, neither any land,That is not, O Monarch, under thy command.In the Peopled Quarter Seven Climes are known,And o’er all of these thy sway extends alone!”Ahmedī.
Onceunto his Vezīr quoth the crownèd King:“Thou, who in my world-realm knowest everything!With my sword I’ve conquered many and many a shore;Still I sigh right sorely: ‘Ah! to conquer more!’Great desire is with me realms to overthrow;Through this cause I comfort ne’er a moment know.Is there yet a country whither we may wend,Where as yet our mighty sway doth not extend,That we may it conquer, conquer it outright?Ours shall be the whole earth—ours it shall be quite.”Then, when heard the Vezīr what the King did say,Quoth he: “Realm-o’erthrowing Monarch, live for aye!May the Mighty Ruler set thy crown on high,That thy throne may ever all assaults defy!May thy life’s rose-garden never fade away!May thy glory’s orchard never see decay!Thou’st the Peopled Quarter ta’en from end to end;All of its inhabitants slaves before thee bend.There’s on earth no city, neither any land,That is not, O Monarch, under thy command.In the Peopled Quarter Seven Climes are known,And o’er all of these thy sway extends alone!”
Ahmedī.
Thespot at which did King Khusrev Pervīz lightWas e’en the ruined dwelling of that moon bright.Whilst wand’ring on, he comes upon that parterre,As on he strolls, it opes before his eyes fair.Among the trees a night-hued courser stands bound(On Heaven’s charger’s breast were envy’s scars found).As softly moved he, sudden on his sight gleamedA moon that in the water shining bright beamed.O what a moon! a sun o’er earth that light rains—Triumphant, happy, blest he who her shade gains.She’d made the pool a casket for her frame fair,And all about that casket spread her dark hair.Her hand did yonder curling serpents back throw—The dawn ’tis, and thereof we never tired grow.He saw the water round about her ear play;In rings upon her shoulders her dark locks lay.When yon heart-winning moon before the King beamed,The King became the sun—in him Love’s fire gleamed.The tears e’en like to water from his eyes rolled;—Was’t strange, when did a Watery Sign the Moon hold?No power was left him, neither sport nor pleasure;He bit his finger, wildered beyond measure.Unconscious of his gaze, the jasmine-breasted—The hyacinths o’er the narcissi rested.When shone her day-face, from that musky cloud bare,Her eyes oped Shīrīn and beheld the King there.Within that fountain, through dismay and shamed fright,She trembled as on water doth the moonlight.Than this no other refuge could yon moon findThat she should round about her her own locks bind.The moon yet beameth through the hair, the dark night,With tresses how could be concealed the sun bright?To hide her from him, round her she her hair flung,And thus as veil her night before her day hung.Sheykhī/p.FROM KHUSREV AND SHĪRĪN/pWhen Ferhād bound to fair Shīrīn his heart’s core,From out his breast Love many a bitter wail tore.On tablet of his life graved, shown was Shīrīn;Of all else emptied, filled alone with Shīrīn.As loathed he the companionship of mankind,In wild beasts ’midst the hills did he his friends find.His guide was Pain; his boon companion, Grief’s throe;His comrade, Sorrow; and his closest friend, Woe.Thus wand’ring on, he knew not day from dark night;For many days he onward strayed in sad plight.Although before his face a wall of stone rise,Until he strikes against it, blind his two eyes.Through yearning for his love he from the world fled;From out his soul into his body Death sped.Because he knew that when the earthly frame goes,Eternal, Everlasting Being love shows,He fervent longed to be from fleshly bonds free,That then his life in very truth might Life see.In sooth, till dies the body, Life is ne’er found,Nor with the love of life the Loved One e’er found.Sheykhī.
Thespot at which did King Khusrev Pervīz lightWas e’en the ruined dwelling of that moon bright.Whilst wand’ring on, he comes upon that parterre,As on he strolls, it opes before his eyes fair.Among the trees a night-hued courser stands bound(On Heaven’s charger’s breast were envy’s scars found).As softly moved he, sudden on his sight gleamedA moon that in the water shining bright beamed.O what a moon! a sun o’er earth that light rains—Triumphant, happy, blest he who her shade gains.She’d made the pool a casket for her frame fair,And all about that casket spread her dark hair.Her hand did yonder curling serpents back throw—The dawn ’tis, and thereof we never tired grow.He saw the water round about her ear play;In rings upon her shoulders her dark locks lay.When yon heart-winning moon before the King beamed,The King became the sun—in him Love’s fire gleamed.The tears e’en like to water from his eyes rolled;—Was’t strange, when did a Watery Sign the Moon hold?No power was left him, neither sport nor pleasure;He bit his finger, wildered beyond measure.Unconscious of his gaze, the jasmine-breasted—The hyacinths o’er the narcissi rested.When shone her day-face, from that musky cloud bare,Her eyes oped Shīrīn and beheld the King there.Within that fountain, through dismay and shamed fright,She trembled as on water doth the moonlight.Than this no other refuge could yon moon findThat she should round about her her own locks bind.The moon yet beameth through the hair, the dark night,With tresses how could be concealed the sun bright?To hide her from him, round her she her hair flung,And thus as veil her night before her day hung.Sheykhī/p.FROM KHUSREV AND SHĪRĪN/pWhen Ferhād bound to fair Shīrīn his heart’s core,From out his breast Love many a bitter wail tore.On tablet of his life graved, shown was Shīrīn;Of all else emptied, filled alone with Shīrīn.As loathed he the companionship of mankind,In wild beasts ’midst the hills did he his friends find.His guide was Pain; his boon companion, Grief’s throe;His comrade, Sorrow; and his closest friend, Woe.Thus wand’ring on, he knew not day from dark night;For many days he onward strayed in sad plight.Although before his face a wall of stone rise,Until he strikes against it, blind his two eyes.Through yearning for his love he from the world fled;From out his soul into his body Death sped.Because he knew that when the earthly frame goes,Eternal, Everlasting Being love shows,He fervent longed to be from fleshly bonds free,That then his life in very truth might Life see.In sooth, till dies the body, Life is ne’er found,Nor with the love of life the Loved One e’er found.Sheykhī.
Thespot at which did King Khusrev Pervīz lightWas e’en the ruined dwelling of that moon bright.Whilst wand’ring on, he comes upon that parterre,As on he strolls, it opes before his eyes fair.Among the trees a night-hued courser stands bound(On Heaven’s charger’s breast were envy’s scars found).As softly moved he, sudden on his sight gleamedA moon that in the water shining bright beamed.O what a moon! a sun o’er earth that light rains—Triumphant, happy, blest he who her shade gains.She’d made the pool a casket for her frame fair,And all about that casket spread her dark hair.Her hand did yonder curling serpents back throw—The dawn ’tis, and thereof we never tired grow.He saw the water round about her ear play;In rings upon her shoulders her dark locks lay.When yon heart-winning moon before the King beamed,The King became the sun—in him Love’s fire gleamed.The tears e’en like to water from his eyes rolled;—Was’t strange, when did a Watery Sign the Moon hold?No power was left him, neither sport nor pleasure;He bit his finger, wildered beyond measure.Unconscious of his gaze, the jasmine-breasted—The hyacinths o’er the narcissi rested.When shone her day-face, from that musky cloud bare,Her eyes oped Shīrīn and beheld the King there.Within that fountain, through dismay and shamed fright,She trembled as on water doth the moonlight.Than this no other refuge could yon moon findThat she should round about her her own locks bind.The moon yet beameth through the hair, the dark night,With tresses how could be concealed the sun bright?To hide her from him, round her she her hair flung,And thus as veil her night before her day hung.
Sheykhī/p.
FROM KHUSREV AND SHĪRĪN
/pWhen Ferhād bound to fair Shīrīn his heart’s core,From out his breast Love many a bitter wail tore.On tablet of his life graved, shown was Shīrīn;Of all else emptied, filled alone with Shīrīn.As loathed he the companionship of mankind,In wild beasts ’midst the hills did he his friends find.His guide was Pain; his boon companion, Grief’s throe;His comrade, Sorrow; and his closest friend, Woe.Thus wand’ring on, he knew not day from dark night;For many days he onward strayed in sad plight.Although before his face a wall of stone rise,Until he strikes against it, blind his two eyes.Through yearning for his love he from the world fled;From out his soul into his body Death sped.Because he knew that when the earthly frame goes,Eternal, Everlasting Being love shows,He fervent longed to be from fleshly bonds free,That then his life in very truth might Life see.In sooth, till dies the body, Life is ne’er found,Nor with the love of life the Loved One e’er found.
Sheykhī.
Hithercome, O seeker after Truth! if joy thou wouldest share,Enter on the Mystic Pathway, follow it, then joy thou’lt share.Hearken now what God (exalted high his name!) from naught hath formed.Eden’s bower he hath created; Light, its lamp, he did prepare;Loftiest its sites, and best and fairest are its blest abodes;Midst of each a hall of pearls—not ivory nor teak-wood rare.Each pavilion he from seventy ruddy rubies raised aloft—Dwellings these in which the dwellers sit secure from fear or care.Round within each courtyard seventy splendid houses he hath ranged,Formed of emeralds green—houses these no fault of form that bear.There, within each house, are seventy pearl and gem-incrusted thrones;He upon each throne hath stretched out seventy couches broidered fair;Sits on every couch a maiden of the bourne of loveliness:Moons their foreheads, days their faces, each a jewelled crown doth wear;Wine their rubies, soft their eyes, their eyebrows troublous, causing woe:All-enchanting, Paradise pays tribute to their witching air.Sudden did they see the faces of those damsels dark of eye,Blinded sun and moon were, and Life’s Stream grew bitter then and there.Thou wouldst deem that each was formed of rubies, corals, and of pearls;Question there is none, for God thus in the Qur’ān doth declare.Tables seventy, fraught with bounties, he in every house hath placed,And on every tray hath spread out seventy sorts of varied fare.. . . . . . . . . .All these glories, all these honors, all these blessings of delight,All these wondrous mercies surely for his sake he did prepare:Through his love unto Muhammed, he the universe hath framed;Happy, for his sake, the naked and the hungry enter there.O Thou Perfectness of Potence! O Thou God of Awful Might!O Thou Majesty of Glory! O Thou King of Perfect Right!Since he Eden’s heaven created, all is there complete and whole,So that naught is lacking; nothing he created needs repair.Yonder, for his righteous servants, things so fair hath he devised,That no eye hath e’er beheld them; ope thy soul’s eye, on them stare.Never have his servants heard them, neither can their hearts conceive;Reach unto their comprehension shall this understanding ne’er.There that God a station lofty, of the loftiest, hath reared,That unclouded station he the name Vesīla caused to bear,That to his Belovèd yonder station a dear home may be,Thence ordained is Heaven’s order free from every grief and care.In its courtyard’s riven centre, planted he the Tūba-Tree;That a tree which hangeth downward, high aloft its roots are there:Thus its radiance all the Heavens lighteth up from end to end,Flooding every tent and palace, every lane and every square.Such a tree the Tūba, that the Gracious One hath in its sapHidden whatsoe’er there be of gifts and presents good and fair;Forth therefrom crowns, thrones, and jewels, yea, and steeds and coursers come,Golden leaves and clearest crystals, wines most pure beyond compare.For his sake there into being hath he called the Tūba-Tree,That from Ebū-Qāsim’s hand might everyone receive his share.. . . . . . . . . .Yaziji-Oglu.
Hithercome, O seeker after Truth! if joy thou wouldest share,Enter on the Mystic Pathway, follow it, then joy thou’lt share.Hearken now what God (exalted high his name!) from naught hath formed.Eden’s bower he hath created; Light, its lamp, he did prepare;Loftiest its sites, and best and fairest are its blest abodes;Midst of each a hall of pearls—not ivory nor teak-wood rare.Each pavilion he from seventy ruddy rubies raised aloft—Dwellings these in which the dwellers sit secure from fear or care.Round within each courtyard seventy splendid houses he hath ranged,Formed of emeralds green—houses these no fault of form that bear.There, within each house, are seventy pearl and gem-incrusted thrones;He upon each throne hath stretched out seventy couches broidered fair;Sits on every couch a maiden of the bourne of loveliness:Moons their foreheads, days their faces, each a jewelled crown doth wear;Wine their rubies, soft their eyes, their eyebrows troublous, causing woe:All-enchanting, Paradise pays tribute to their witching air.Sudden did they see the faces of those damsels dark of eye,Blinded sun and moon were, and Life’s Stream grew bitter then and there.Thou wouldst deem that each was formed of rubies, corals, and of pearls;Question there is none, for God thus in the Qur’ān doth declare.Tables seventy, fraught with bounties, he in every house hath placed,And on every tray hath spread out seventy sorts of varied fare.. . . . . . . . . .All these glories, all these honors, all these blessings of delight,All these wondrous mercies surely for his sake he did prepare:Through his love unto Muhammed, he the universe hath framed;Happy, for his sake, the naked and the hungry enter there.O Thou Perfectness of Potence! O Thou God of Awful Might!O Thou Majesty of Glory! O Thou King of Perfect Right!Since he Eden’s heaven created, all is there complete and whole,So that naught is lacking; nothing he created needs repair.Yonder, for his righteous servants, things so fair hath he devised,That no eye hath e’er beheld them; ope thy soul’s eye, on them stare.Never have his servants heard them, neither can their hearts conceive;Reach unto their comprehension shall this understanding ne’er.There that God a station lofty, of the loftiest, hath reared,That unclouded station he the name Vesīla caused to bear,That to his Belovèd yonder station a dear home may be,Thence ordained is Heaven’s order free from every grief and care.In its courtyard’s riven centre, planted he the Tūba-Tree;That a tree which hangeth downward, high aloft its roots are there:Thus its radiance all the Heavens lighteth up from end to end,Flooding every tent and palace, every lane and every square.Such a tree the Tūba, that the Gracious One hath in its sapHidden whatsoe’er there be of gifts and presents good and fair;Forth therefrom crowns, thrones, and jewels, yea, and steeds and coursers come,Golden leaves and clearest crystals, wines most pure beyond compare.For his sake there into being hath he called the Tūba-Tree,That from Ebū-Qāsim’s hand might everyone receive his share.. . . . . . . . . .Yaziji-Oglu.
Hithercome, O seeker after Truth! if joy thou wouldest share,Enter on the Mystic Pathway, follow it, then joy thou’lt share.Hearken now what God (exalted high his name!) from naught hath formed.Eden’s bower he hath created; Light, its lamp, he did prepare;Loftiest its sites, and best and fairest are its blest abodes;Midst of each a hall of pearls—not ivory nor teak-wood rare.Each pavilion he from seventy ruddy rubies raised aloft—Dwellings these in which the dwellers sit secure from fear or care.Round within each courtyard seventy splendid houses he hath ranged,Formed of emeralds green—houses these no fault of form that bear.There, within each house, are seventy pearl and gem-incrusted thrones;He upon each throne hath stretched out seventy couches broidered fair;Sits on every couch a maiden of the bourne of loveliness:Moons their foreheads, days their faces, each a jewelled crown doth wear;Wine their rubies, soft their eyes, their eyebrows troublous, causing woe:All-enchanting, Paradise pays tribute to their witching air.Sudden did they see the faces of those damsels dark of eye,Blinded sun and moon were, and Life’s Stream grew bitter then and there.Thou wouldst deem that each was formed of rubies, corals, and of pearls;Question there is none, for God thus in the Qur’ān doth declare.Tables seventy, fraught with bounties, he in every house hath placed,And on every tray hath spread out seventy sorts of varied fare.. . . . . . . . . .All these glories, all these honors, all these blessings of delight,All these wondrous mercies surely for his sake he did prepare:Through his love unto Muhammed, he the universe hath framed;Happy, for his sake, the naked and the hungry enter there.O Thou Perfectness of Potence! O Thou God of Awful Might!O Thou Majesty of Glory! O Thou King of Perfect Right!
Since he Eden’s heaven created, all is there complete and whole,So that naught is lacking; nothing he created needs repair.Yonder, for his righteous servants, things so fair hath he devised,That no eye hath e’er beheld them; ope thy soul’s eye, on them stare.Never have his servants heard them, neither can their hearts conceive;Reach unto their comprehension shall this understanding ne’er.There that God a station lofty, of the loftiest, hath reared,That unclouded station he the name Vesīla caused to bear,That to his Belovèd yonder station a dear home may be,Thence ordained is Heaven’s order free from every grief and care.In its courtyard’s riven centre, planted he the Tūba-Tree;That a tree which hangeth downward, high aloft its roots are there:Thus its radiance all the Heavens lighteth up from end to end,Flooding every tent and palace, every lane and every square.
Such a tree the Tūba, that the Gracious One hath in its sapHidden whatsoe’er there be of gifts and presents good and fair;Forth therefrom crowns, thrones, and jewels, yea, and steeds and coursers come,Golden leaves and clearest crystals, wines most pure beyond compare.For his sake there into being hath he called the Tūba-Tree,That from Ebū-Qāsim’s hand might everyone receive his share.. . . . . . . . . .Yaziji-Oglu.
Cup-Bearer, bring, bring here again my yester even’s wine;My harp and rebec bring, them bid address this heart of mine:While still I live, ’tis meet that I should mirth and glee enjoy;The day shall come when none may e’en my resting-place divine.Sultan Murād II.
Cup-Bearer, bring, bring here again my yester even’s wine;My harp and rebec bring, them bid address this heart of mine:While still I live, ’tis meet that I should mirth and glee enjoy;The day shall come when none may e’en my resting-place divine.Sultan Murād II.
Cup-Bearer, bring, bring here again my yester even’s wine;My harp and rebec bring, them bid address this heart of mine:While still I live, ’tis meet that I should mirth and glee enjoy;The day shall come when none may e’en my resting-place divine.
Sultan Murād II.
Soulsare fluttered when the morning breezes through thy tresses stray;Waving cypresses are wildered when thy motions they survey.Since with witchcraft thou hast whetted keen the lancet of thy glance,All my veins are bleeding inward through my longing and dismay.“Why across thy cheek disordered float thy tresses?” asked I her.“It is Rūm-Eylī; there high-starred heroes gallop,” did she say.Thought I, though I spake not: “In thy quarter, through thy tint and scent,Wretched and head-giddy, wand’ring, those who hope hope not for stray.”“Whence the anger in thy glances, O sweet love?” I said; then she:“Silence! surely if I shed blood, I the ensigns should display.”Even as thou sighest, ‘Avnī, shower thine eyes tears fast as rain,Like as follow hard the thunder-roll the floods in dread array.‘Avnī.
Soulsare fluttered when the morning breezes through thy tresses stray;Waving cypresses are wildered when thy motions they survey.Since with witchcraft thou hast whetted keen the lancet of thy glance,All my veins are bleeding inward through my longing and dismay.“Why across thy cheek disordered float thy tresses?” asked I her.“It is Rūm-Eylī; there high-starred heroes gallop,” did she say.Thought I, though I spake not: “In thy quarter, through thy tint and scent,Wretched and head-giddy, wand’ring, those who hope hope not for stray.”“Whence the anger in thy glances, O sweet love?” I said; then she:“Silence! surely if I shed blood, I the ensigns should display.”Even as thou sighest, ‘Avnī, shower thine eyes tears fast as rain,Like as follow hard the thunder-roll the floods in dread array.‘Avnī.
Soulsare fluttered when the morning breezes through thy tresses stray;Waving cypresses are wildered when thy motions they survey.Since with witchcraft thou hast whetted keen the lancet of thy glance,All my veins are bleeding inward through my longing and dismay.“Why across thy cheek disordered float thy tresses?” asked I her.“It is Rūm-Eylī; there high-starred heroes gallop,” did she say.Thought I, though I spake not: “In thy quarter, through thy tint and scent,Wretched and head-giddy, wand’ring, those who hope hope not for stray.”“Whence the anger in thy glances, O sweet love?” I said; then she:“Silence! surely if I shed blood, I the ensigns should display.”Even as thou sighest, ‘Avnī, shower thine eyes tears fast as rain,Like as follow hard the thunder-roll the floods in dread array.
‘Avnī.
Tornand pierced my heart has been by thy scorn and tyranny’s blade;Rent by the scissors of grief for thee is the robe that my patience arrayed.Like the mihrāb of the Ka’ba, as shrine where in worship to turn,Thy ward would an angel take, if thy footprint there he surveyed.They are pearls, O mine eye! thou sheddest her day-bright face before;Not a tear is left—these all are dried by the beams by her cheek displayed.‘Avnī.
Tornand pierced my heart has been by thy scorn and tyranny’s blade;Rent by the scissors of grief for thee is the robe that my patience arrayed.Like the mihrāb of the Ka’ba, as shrine where in worship to turn,Thy ward would an angel take, if thy footprint there he surveyed.They are pearls, O mine eye! thou sheddest her day-bright face before;Not a tear is left—these all are dried by the beams by her cheek displayed.‘Avnī.
Tornand pierced my heart has been by thy scorn and tyranny’s blade;Rent by the scissors of grief for thee is the robe that my patience arrayed.Like the mihrāb of the Ka’ba, as shrine where in worship to turn,Thy ward would an angel take, if thy footprint there he surveyed.They are pearls, O mine eye! thou sheddest her day-bright face before;Not a tear is left—these all are dried by the beams by her cheek displayed.
‘Avnī.
Toobey Fight hard for Allah is my aim and my desire;’Tis but zeal for Faith, for Islām, that my ardor doth inspire.Through the grace of Allah, and th’ assistance of the Band Unseen,Is my earnest hope the Infidels to crush with ruin dire.On the Saints and on the Prophets surely doth my trust repose;Through the love of God, to triumph and to conquest I aspire.What if I with soul and gold strive here to wage the Holy War?Praise is God’s! ten thousand sighs for battle in my breast suspire.O Muhammed! through the chosen Ahmed Mukhtār’s glorious aid,Hope I that my might may triumph over Islām’s foes acquire!‘Avnī.
Toobey Fight hard for Allah is my aim and my desire;’Tis but zeal for Faith, for Islām, that my ardor doth inspire.Through the grace of Allah, and th’ assistance of the Band Unseen,Is my earnest hope the Infidels to crush with ruin dire.On the Saints and on the Prophets surely doth my trust repose;Through the love of God, to triumph and to conquest I aspire.What if I with soul and gold strive here to wage the Holy War?Praise is God’s! ten thousand sighs for battle in my breast suspire.O Muhammed! through the chosen Ahmed Mukhtār’s glorious aid,Hope I that my might may triumph over Islām’s foes acquire!‘Avnī.
Toobey Fight hard for Allah is my aim and my desire;’Tis but zeal for Faith, for Islām, that my ardor doth inspire.Through the grace of Allah, and th’ assistance of the Band Unseen,Is my earnest hope the Infidels to crush with ruin dire.On the Saints and on the Prophets surely doth my trust repose;Through the love of God, to triumph and to conquest I aspire.What if I with soul and gold strive here to wage the Holy War?Praise is God’s! ten thousand sighs for battle in my breast suspire.O Muhammed! through the chosen Ahmed Mukhtār’s glorious aid,Hope I that my might may triumph over Islām’s foes acquire!
‘Avnī.
Whopleasure seeks must oftentimes experience sad pain, in sooth;He must a beggar be who doth desire to win domain, in sooth.Whene’er I sigh, up rise my tears, they, boiling, fast o’erflow my eyes;Winds surely must full fiercely blow, with waves to fill the main, in sooth.My heart’s domain now thought of thee, now grief for thee, alternate rule;This realm to wreck and waste to lay those two sublime Kings strain, in sooth.Spite zeal and prayers, Truth sure is found within the cup that’s filled with wine;So acts of rakes are free from all hypocrisy’s foul stain, in sooth.O ‘Adenī, rub thou thy face low ’midst the dust that lines her path;For eyes with blood filled stand in need of tūtyā, health to gain, in sooth.‘Adenī.
Whopleasure seeks must oftentimes experience sad pain, in sooth;He must a beggar be who doth desire to win domain, in sooth.Whene’er I sigh, up rise my tears, they, boiling, fast o’erflow my eyes;Winds surely must full fiercely blow, with waves to fill the main, in sooth.My heart’s domain now thought of thee, now grief for thee, alternate rule;This realm to wreck and waste to lay those two sublime Kings strain, in sooth.Spite zeal and prayers, Truth sure is found within the cup that’s filled with wine;So acts of rakes are free from all hypocrisy’s foul stain, in sooth.O ‘Adenī, rub thou thy face low ’midst the dust that lines her path;For eyes with blood filled stand in need of tūtyā, health to gain, in sooth.‘Adenī.
Whopleasure seeks must oftentimes experience sad pain, in sooth;He must a beggar be who doth desire to win domain, in sooth.Whene’er I sigh, up rise my tears, they, boiling, fast o’erflow my eyes;Winds surely must full fiercely blow, with waves to fill the main, in sooth.My heart’s domain now thought of thee, now grief for thee, alternate rule;This realm to wreck and waste to lay those two sublime Kings strain, in sooth.Spite zeal and prayers, Truth sure is found within the cup that’s filled with wine;So acts of rakes are free from all hypocrisy’s foul stain, in sooth.O ‘Adenī, rub thou thy face low ’midst the dust that lines her path;For eyes with blood filled stand in need of tūtyā, health to gain, in sooth.
‘Adenī.
WhenI saw my love’s hair, ambergris-hued, o’er her visage shake,“Strange,” I thought, “a moon, musk-shedding, ’midst the flowers its bed should make!”How thy locks, moon-face, are fallen o’er thy cheek in many a curl!As in day he lies reposing, so in strength doth gain the snake.From thy cheek the rose and tulip tint and scent have stol’n indeed;Therefore through the bāzār round they bear them, bounden to the stake.‘Adenī.
WhenI saw my love’s hair, ambergris-hued, o’er her visage shake,“Strange,” I thought, “a moon, musk-shedding, ’midst the flowers its bed should make!”How thy locks, moon-face, are fallen o’er thy cheek in many a curl!As in day he lies reposing, so in strength doth gain the snake.From thy cheek the rose and tulip tint and scent have stol’n indeed;Therefore through the bāzār round they bear them, bounden to the stake.‘Adenī.
WhenI saw my love’s hair, ambergris-hued, o’er her visage shake,“Strange,” I thought, “a moon, musk-shedding, ’midst the flowers its bed should make!”How thy locks, moon-face, are fallen o’er thy cheek in many a curl!As in day he lies reposing, so in strength doth gain the snake.From thy cheek the rose and tulip tint and scent have stol’n indeed;Therefore through the bāzār round they bear them, bounden to the stake.
‘Adenī.
Again, then, doth this apple, thy chin, tooth-marks wear!Again they’ve eaten peaches in thine orchard fair!If strange hands have not reached thee, O rosebud-lipped one,Doth thy rose-garden’s pathway a foot-step print bear!I cannot reach thee before rivals all throng thee round:Less for true lover than vile dog dost thou care.Witness that thou with my rivals the cup drain’dst last night,Bears the sleepless and worn look thy languid eyes wear.With whom didst thou last even carouse, that this dayMorn’s zephyr about thee did so much news declare?Beholding thy lips hurt, Āfitābī hath said:“Again, then, doth this apple, thy chin, tooth-marks wear!”Āfitābī.
Again, then, doth this apple, thy chin, tooth-marks wear!Again they’ve eaten peaches in thine orchard fair!If strange hands have not reached thee, O rosebud-lipped one,Doth thy rose-garden’s pathway a foot-step print bear!I cannot reach thee before rivals all throng thee round:Less for true lover than vile dog dost thou care.Witness that thou with my rivals the cup drain’dst last night,Bears the sleepless and worn look thy languid eyes wear.With whom didst thou last even carouse, that this dayMorn’s zephyr about thee did so much news declare?Beholding thy lips hurt, Āfitābī hath said:“Again, then, doth this apple, thy chin, tooth-marks wear!”Āfitābī.
Again, then, doth this apple, thy chin, tooth-marks wear!Again they’ve eaten peaches in thine orchard fair!If strange hands have not reached thee, O rosebud-lipped one,Doth thy rose-garden’s pathway a foot-step print bear!I cannot reach thee before rivals all throng thee round:Less for true lover than vile dog dost thou care.Witness that thou with my rivals the cup drain’dst last night,Bears the sleepless and worn look thy languid eyes wear.With whom didst thou last even carouse, that this dayMorn’s zephyr about thee did so much news declare?Beholding thy lips hurt, Āfitābī hath said:“Again, then, doth this apple, thy chin, tooth-marks wear!”
Āfitābī.
Castoff thy veil, and heaven and earth in dazzling light array!As radiant Paradise, this poor demented world display!Move thou thy lips, make play the ripples light of Kevser’s pool!Let loose thy scented locks, and odors sweet through earth convey!A musky warrant by thy down was traced, and zephyr charged:“Speed, with this scent subdue the realms of China and Cathay!”O heart! should not thy portion be the Water bright of Life,A thousand times mayst thou pursue Iskender’s darksome way.O Zeyneb, woman’s love of earthly show leave thou behind;Go manly forth, with single heart, forsake adornment gay!Zeyneb.
Castoff thy veil, and heaven and earth in dazzling light array!As radiant Paradise, this poor demented world display!Move thou thy lips, make play the ripples light of Kevser’s pool!Let loose thy scented locks, and odors sweet through earth convey!A musky warrant by thy down was traced, and zephyr charged:“Speed, with this scent subdue the realms of China and Cathay!”O heart! should not thy portion be the Water bright of Life,A thousand times mayst thou pursue Iskender’s darksome way.O Zeyneb, woman’s love of earthly show leave thou behind;Go manly forth, with single heart, forsake adornment gay!Zeyneb.
Castoff thy veil, and heaven and earth in dazzling light array!As radiant Paradise, this poor demented world display!Move thou thy lips, make play the ripples light of Kevser’s pool!Let loose thy scented locks, and odors sweet through earth convey!A musky warrant by thy down was traced, and zephyr charged:“Speed, with this scent subdue the realms of China and Cathay!”O heart! should not thy portion be the Water bright of Life,A thousand times mayst thou pursue Iskender’s darksome way.O Zeyneb, woman’s love of earthly show leave thou behind;Go manly forth, with single heart, forsake adornment gay!
Zeyneb.
‘Ah! thine eyes lay waste the heart, they ’gainst the soul bare daggers dread;See how sanguinary gleam they—blood aye upon blood they shed.Come, the picture of thy down bear unto this my scorchèd breast—It is customary fresh greens over the broiled flesh to spread.Said I: “O Life! since thy lip is life, to me vouchsafe a kiss.”Smiling rose-like, “Surely, surely, by my life,” she answerèd.As I weep sore, of my stainèd eyebrow and my tears of blood,“’Tis the rainbow o’er the shower stretched,” were by all beholders said.While within my heart thine eye’s shaft, send not to my breast despair;Idol mine! guest after guest must not to one same house be led.Through its grieving for thy hyacinth down, thus feeble grownIs the basil, that the gardeners nightly o’er it water shed.Quoth I: “O Life! do not shun Jem, he a pilgrim here hath come;”“Though a pilgrim, yet his life doth on a child’s face hang,” she said.Prince Jem/p.FRAGMENT/pLo! there the torrent, dashing ’gainst the rocks, doth wildly roll;The whole wide realm of Space and Being ruth hath on my soul.Through bitterness of grief and woe the morn hath rent its robe;See! O in dawning’s place, the sky weeps blood, without control!Tears shedding, o’er the mountain-tops the clouds of heaven pass;Hear, deep the bursting thunder sobs and moans through stress of dole.Prince Jem.
‘Ah! thine eyes lay waste the heart, they ’gainst the soul bare daggers dread;See how sanguinary gleam they—blood aye upon blood they shed.Come, the picture of thy down bear unto this my scorchèd breast—It is customary fresh greens over the broiled flesh to spread.Said I: “O Life! since thy lip is life, to me vouchsafe a kiss.”Smiling rose-like, “Surely, surely, by my life,” she answerèd.As I weep sore, of my stainèd eyebrow and my tears of blood,“’Tis the rainbow o’er the shower stretched,” were by all beholders said.While within my heart thine eye’s shaft, send not to my breast despair;Idol mine! guest after guest must not to one same house be led.Through its grieving for thy hyacinth down, thus feeble grownIs the basil, that the gardeners nightly o’er it water shed.Quoth I: “O Life! do not shun Jem, he a pilgrim here hath come;”“Though a pilgrim, yet his life doth on a child’s face hang,” she said.Prince Jem/p.FRAGMENT/pLo! there the torrent, dashing ’gainst the rocks, doth wildly roll;The whole wide realm of Space and Being ruth hath on my soul.Through bitterness of grief and woe the morn hath rent its robe;See! O in dawning’s place, the sky weeps blood, without control!Tears shedding, o’er the mountain-tops the clouds of heaven pass;Hear, deep the bursting thunder sobs and moans through stress of dole.Prince Jem.
‘Ah! thine eyes lay waste the heart, they ’gainst the soul bare daggers dread;See how sanguinary gleam they—blood aye upon blood they shed.Come, the picture of thy down bear unto this my scorchèd breast—It is customary fresh greens over the broiled flesh to spread.Said I: “O Life! since thy lip is life, to me vouchsafe a kiss.”Smiling rose-like, “Surely, surely, by my life,” she answerèd.As I weep sore, of my stainèd eyebrow and my tears of blood,“’Tis the rainbow o’er the shower stretched,” were by all beholders said.While within my heart thine eye’s shaft, send not to my breast despair;Idol mine! guest after guest must not to one same house be led.Through its grieving for thy hyacinth down, thus feeble grownIs the basil, that the gardeners nightly o’er it water shed.Quoth I: “O Life! do not shun Jem, he a pilgrim here hath come;”“Though a pilgrim, yet his life doth on a child’s face hang,” she said.
Prince Jem/p.
FRAGMENT
/pLo! there the torrent, dashing ’gainst the rocks, doth wildly roll;The whole wide realm of Space and Being ruth hath on my soul.Through bitterness of grief and woe the morn hath rent its robe;See! O in dawning’s place, the sky weeps blood, without control!Tears shedding, o’er the mountain-tops the clouds of heaven pass;Hear, deep the bursting thunder sobs and moans through stress of dole.
Prince Jem.
Hewho longs for ruby lip’s kiss may not calm of soul remain;He his head must yield who hopes the dusky locks’ sweet scent to gain.Still in heart abides not longing’s flame when one her ward beholds;Him who seeks her face contents not even Heaven’s flowery plain.Yonder sugar-lip’s surrounded by her cheek’s down;—where art thou,O thou seeker of the rose’s company without thorn’s pain?Wouldest thou delight? Then plunge thou deep beneath Love’s ocean surge:He who would for regal pearls dive, surely should know well the main.Though the loved one mocks at Ahmed’s faults and failings, what of that?He who seeks a friend that’s blameless must without a friend remain.Ahmed Pasha.
Hewho longs for ruby lip’s kiss may not calm of soul remain;He his head must yield who hopes the dusky locks’ sweet scent to gain.Still in heart abides not longing’s flame when one her ward beholds;Him who seeks her face contents not even Heaven’s flowery plain.Yonder sugar-lip’s surrounded by her cheek’s down;—where art thou,O thou seeker of the rose’s company without thorn’s pain?Wouldest thou delight? Then plunge thou deep beneath Love’s ocean surge:He who would for regal pearls dive, surely should know well the main.Though the loved one mocks at Ahmed’s faults and failings, what of that?He who seeks a friend that’s blameless must without a friend remain.Ahmed Pasha.
Hewho longs for ruby lip’s kiss may not calm of soul remain;He his head must yield who hopes the dusky locks’ sweet scent to gain.Still in heart abides not longing’s flame when one her ward beholds;Him who seeks her face contents not even Heaven’s flowery plain.Yonder sugar-lip’s surrounded by her cheek’s down;—where art thou,O thou seeker of the rose’s company without thorn’s pain?Wouldest thou delight? Then plunge thou deep beneath Love’s ocean surge:He who would for regal pearls dive, surely should know well the main.Though the loved one mocks at Ahmed’s faults and failings, what of that?He who seeks a friend that’s blameless must without a friend remain.
Ahmed Pasha.
Locust-like down from the sky the snowflakes wing their way;From the green-plumaged bird, Delight, O heart! hope not for lay.Like drunken camels, spatter now the clouds earth’s winding sheet;Laded the caravan of mirth and glee, and passed away.With lighted lamps in daytime seek the people for the sun;Yet scarce, with trouble, a dim, fitful spark discover they.. . . . . . . . . .The Moon in Sign of Bounteousness! the Shade of Allah’s grace!The King, star-armied! he in aspect fair as Hermes’ ray—The Khān Muhammed! at the portal of whose sphere of mightTo wait as servants would Darius and Key-Khusrev pray!E’en should the sun till the Last Day it measure with gold beam,Nor shore nor depth could e’er it find to th’ ocean of his sway!Nejātī.
Locust-like down from the sky the snowflakes wing their way;From the green-plumaged bird, Delight, O heart! hope not for lay.Like drunken camels, spatter now the clouds earth’s winding sheet;Laded the caravan of mirth and glee, and passed away.With lighted lamps in daytime seek the people for the sun;Yet scarce, with trouble, a dim, fitful spark discover they.. . . . . . . . . .The Moon in Sign of Bounteousness! the Shade of Allah’s grace!The King, star-armied! he in aspect fair as Hermes’ ray—The Khān Muhammed! at the portal of whose sphere of mightTo wait as servants would Darius and Key-Khusrev pray!E’en should the sun till the Last Day it measure with gold beam,Nor shore nor depth could e’er it find to th’ ocean of his sway!Nejātī.
Locust-like down from the sky the snowflakes wing their way;From the green-plumaged bird, Delight, O heart! hope not for lay.Like drunken camels, spatter now the clouds earth’s winding sheet;Laded the caravan of mirth and glee, and passed away.With lighted lamps in daytime seek the people for the sun;Yet scarce, with trouble, a dim, fitful spark discover they.. . . . . . . . . .The Moon in Sign of Bounteousness! the Shade of Allah’s grace!The King, star-armied! he in aspect fair as Hermes’ ray—The Khān Muhammed! at the portal of whose sphere of mightTo wait as servants would Darius and Key-Khusrev pray!E’en should the sun till the Last Day it measure with gold beam,Nor shore nor depth could e’er it find to th’ ocean of his sway!
Nejātī.
Theearly springtide now hath made earth smiling bright again,E’en as doth union with his mistress soothe the lover’s pain.They say: “’Tis now the goblet’s turn, the time of mirth ’tis now;”Beware that to the winds thou castest not this hour in vain.Theriaca within their ruby pots the tulips lay:See in the mead the running streamlet’s glistening, snake-like train.Onward, beneath some cypress-tree’s loved foot its face to rub,With turn and turn, and singing sweet, the brook goes through the plain.Lord! may this happy union of felicity and earth,Like turn of sun of Love, or Jesu’s life, standfast remain!May glee and mirth, e’en as desired, continuous abide,Like to a mighty Key-Khusrev’s, or Jemshīd’s, glorious reign!. . . . . . . . . .Sultan Muhammed! Murād’s son! the Pride of Princes all;He, the Darius, who to all earth’s Kings doth crowns ordain!Monarch of stars! whose flag’s the sun, whose stirrup is the moon!Prince dread as Doom, and strong as Fate, and bounteous as main!Nejātī.
Theearly springtide now hath made earth smiling bright again,E’en as doth union with his mistress soothe the lover’s pain.They say: “’Tis now the goblet’s turn, the time of mirth ’tis now;”Beware that to the winds thou castest not this hour in vain.Theriaca within their ruby pots the tulips lay:See in the mead the running streamlet’s glistening, snake-like train.Onward, beneath some cypress-tree’s loved foot its face to rub,With turn and turn, and singing sweet, the brook goes through the plain.Lord! may this happy union of felicity and earth,Like turn of sun of Love, or Jesu’s life, standfast remain!May glee and mirth, e’en as desired, continuous abide,Like to a mighty Key-Khusrev’s, or Jemshīd’s, glorious reign!. . . . . . . . . .Sultan Muhammed! Murād’s son! the Pride of Princes all;He, the Darius, who to all earth’s Kings doth crowns ordain!Monarch of stars! whose flag’s the sun, whose stirrup is the moon!Prince dread as Doom, and strong as Fate, and bounteous as main!Nejātī.
Theearly springtide now hath made earth smiling bright again,E’en as doth union with his mistress soothe the lover’s pain.They say: “’Tis now the goblet’s turn, the time of mirth ’tis now;”Beware that to the winds thou castest not this hour in vain.Theriaca within their ruby pots the tulips lay:See in the mead the running streamlet’s glistening, snake-like train.Onward, beneath some cypress-tree’s loved foot its face to rub,With turn and turn, and singing sweet, the brook goes through the plain.Lord! may this happy union of felicity and earth,Like turn of sun of Love, or Jesu’s life, standfast remain!May glee and mirth, e’en as desired, continuous abide,Like to a mighty Key-Khusrev’s, or Jemshīd’s, glorious reign!. . . . . . . . . .Sultan Muhammed! Murād’s son! the Pride of Princes all;He, the Darius, who to all earth’s Kings doth crowns ordain!Monarch of stars! whose flag’s the sun, whose stirrup is the moon!Prince dread as Doom, and strong as Fate, and bounteous as main!
Nejātī.
Oneeve, when had the Sun before her radiant beauty brightLet down the veil of ambergris, the musky locks of night;(Off had the royal hawk, the Sun, flown from the Orient’s hand,And lighted in the West; flocked after him the crows in flight;)To catch the gloomy raven, Night, the fowler skilled, the Sphere,Had shaped the new-moon like the claw of eagle, sharp to smite;In pity at the doleful sight of sunset’s crimson blood,Its veil across the heaven’s eye had drawn the dusky Night.. . . . . . . . . .Sultan of Rome! Khusrev of the Horizons! Bāyezīd!King of the Epoch! Sovereign! and Centre of all Right!The tablet of his heart doth all th’ affairs of earth disclose;And eloquent as page of book the words he doth indite.O Shāh! I’m he who, ’midst th’ assembly where thy praise is sung,Will, rebec-like, a thousand notes upon one cord recite.’Tis meet perfection through thy name to my poor words should come,As to rose-water perfume sweet is brought by sunbeam’s light.Nejātī.
Oneeve, when had the Sun before her radiant beauty brightLet down the veil of ambergris, the musky locks of night;(Off had the royal hawk, the Sun, flown from the Orient’s hand,And lighted in the West; flocked after him the crows in flight;)To catch the gloomy raven, Night, the fowler skilled, the Sphere,Had shaped the new-moon like the claw of eagle, sharp to smite;In pity at the doleful sight of sunset’s crimson blood,Its veil across the heaven’s eye had drawn the dusky Night.. . . . . . . . . .Sultan of Rome! Khusrev of the Horizons! Bāyezīd!King of the Epoch! Sovereign! and Centre of all Right!The tablet of his heart doth all th’ affairs of earth disclose;And eloquent as page of book the words he doth indite.O Shāh! I’m he who, ’midst th’ assembly where thy praise is sung,Will, rebec-like, a thousand notes upon one cord recite.’Tis meet perfection through thy name to my poor words should come,As to rose-water perfume sweet is brought by sunbeam’s light.Nejātī.
Oneeve, when had the Sun before her radiant beauty brightLet down the veil of ambergris, the musky locks of night;(Off had the royal hawk, the Sun, flown from the Orient’s hand,And lighted in the West; flocked after him the crows in flight;)To catch the gloomy raven, Night, the fowler skilled, the Sphere,Had shaped the new-moon like the claw of eagle, sharp to smite;In pity at the doleful sight of sunset’s crimson blood,Its veil across the heaven’s eye had drawn the dusky Night.. . . . . . . . . .Sultan of Rome! Khusrev of the Horizons! Bāyezīd!King of the Epoch! Sovereign! and Centre of all Right!The tablet of his heart doth all th’ affairs of earth disclose;And eloquent as page of book the words he doth indite.O Shāh! I’m he who, ’midst th’ assembly where thy praise is sung,Will, rebec-like, a thousand notes upon one cord recite.’Tis meet perfection through thy name to my poor words should come,As to rose-water perfume sweet is brought by sunbeam’s light.
Nejātī.
Truththis: a lasting home hath yielded ne’er earth’s spreading plain;Scarce e’en an inn where may the caravan for rest remain.Though every leaf of every tree is verily a book,For those who understanding lack doth earth no leaf contain.E’en though the Loved One be from thee as far as East from West,“Bagdad to lovers is not far,” O heart, then strive and strain.One moment opened were her ebriate, strife-causing eyne.By us as scimitars, not merely daggers, were they ta’en.Yearneth Nejātī for the court of thy fair Paradise,Though this a wish which he while here on earth can ne’er attain.Nejātī.
Truththis: a lasting home hath yielded ne’er earth’s spreading plain;Scarce e’en an inn where may the caravan for rest remain.Though every leaf of every tree is verily a book,For those who understanding lack doth earth no leaf contain.E’en though the Loved One be from thee as far as East from West,“Bagdad to lovers is not far,” O heart, then strive and strain.One moment opened were her ebriate, strife-causing eyne.By us as scimitars, not merely daggers, were they ta’en.Yearneth Nejātī for the court of thy fair Paradise,Though this a wish which he while here on earth can ne’er attain.Nejātī.
Truththis: a lasting home hath yielded ne’er earth’s spreading plain;Scarce e’en an inn where may the caravan for rest remain.Though every leaf of every tree is verily a book,For those who understanding lack doth earth no leaf contain.E’en though the Loved One be from thee as far as East from West,“Bagdad to lovers is not far,” O heart, then strive and strain.One moment opened were her ebriate, strife-causing eyne.By us as scimitars, not merely daggers, were they ta’en.Yearneth Nejātī for the court of thy fair Paradise,Though this a wish which he while here on earth can ne’er attain.
Nejātī.
O Handkerchief! I send thee—off to yonder maid of grace;Around thee I my eyelashes will make the fringe of lace;I will the black point of my eye rub up to paint therewith;To yon coquettish beauty go—go look thou in her face.O Handkerchief! the loved one’s hand take, kiss her lip so sweet,Her chin, which mocks at apple and at orange, kissing greet;If sudden any dust should light upon her blessèd heart,Fall down before her, kiss her sandal’s sole, beneath her feet.A sample of my tears of blood thou, Handkerchief, wilt show,Through these within a moment would a thousand crimson grow;Thou’lt be in company with her, while I am sad with grief;To me no longer life may be, if things continue so.Nejātī.
O Handkerchief! I send thee—off to yonder maid of grace;Around thee I my eyelashes will make the fringe of lace;I will the black point of my eye rub up to paint therewith;To yon coquettish beauty go—go look thou in her face.O Handkerchief! the loved one’s hand take, kiss her lip so sweet,Her chin, which mocks at apple and at orange, kissing greet;If sudden any dust should light upon her blessèd heart,Fall down before her, kiss her sandal’s sole, beneath her feet.A sample of my tears of blood thou, Handkerchief, wilt show,Through these within a moment would a thousand crimson grow;Thou’lt be in company with her, while I am sad with grief;To me no longer life may be, if things continue so.Nejātī.
O Handkerchief! I send thee—off to yonder maid of grace;Around thee I my eyelashes will make the fringe of lace;I will the black point of my eye rub up to paint therewith;To yon coquettish beauty go—go look thou in her face.
O Handkerchief! the loved one’s hand take, kiss her lip so sweet,Her chin, which mocks at apple and at orange, kissing greet;If sudden any dust should light upon her blessèd heart,Fall down before her, kiss her sandal’s sole, beneath her feet.
A sample of my tears of blood thou, Handkerchief, wilt show,Through these within a moment would a thousand crimson grow;Thou’lt be in company with her, while I am sad with grief;To me no longer life may be, if things continue so.
Nejātī.
Upfrom indolent sleep the eyes of the flowers to awake,Over their faces each dawn the cloudlets of spring water shake.Denizens all of the mead now with new life are so filled,That were its foot not secured, into dancing the cypress would break.Roses’ fair cheeks to describe, all of their beauty to tell,Lines on the clear river’s page rain-drops and light ripples make.Silvery rings, thou would’st say, they hung in the bright water’s ear,When the fresh rain-drops of spring fall on the stretch of the lake.Since the ring-dove, who aloft sits on the cypress, its praiseSings, were it strange if he be sad and love-sick for its sake?. . . . . . . . . .Prince of the Climate of Speech, noble Nishānji Pasha,To the mark of whose kindness the shaft of thought can its way never make.When poets into their hands the chaplet, thy verses, have ta’en,“I pardon implore of the Lord” for litany ever they take.Mesīhī.
Upfrom indolent sleep the eyes of the flowers to awake,Over their faces each dawn the cloudlets of spring water shake.Denizens all of the mead now with new life are so filled,That were its foot not secured, into dancing the cypress would break.Roses’ fair cheeks to describe, all of their beauty to tell,Lines on the clear river’s page rain-drops and light ripples make.Silvery rings, thou would’st say, they hung in the bright water’s ear,When the fresh rain-drops of spring fall on the stretch of the lake.Since the ring-dove, who aloft sits on the cypress, its praiseSings, were it strange if he be sad and love-sick for its sake?. . . . . . . . . .Prince of the Climate of Speech, noble Nishānji Pasha,To the mark of whose kindness the shaft of thought can its way never make.When poets into their hands the chaplet, thy verses, have ta’en,“I pardon implore of the Lord” for litany ever they take.Mesīhī.
Upfrom indolent sleep the eyes of the flowers to awake,Over their faces each dawn the cloudlets of spring water shake.Denizens all of the mead now with new life are so filled,That were its foot not secured, into dancing the cypress would break.Roses’ fair cheeks to describe, all of their beauty to tell,Lines on the clear river’s page rain-drops and light ripples make.Silvery rings, thou would’st say, they hung in the bright water’s ear,When the fresh rain-drops of spring fall on the stretch of the lake.Since the ring-dove, who aloft sits on the cypress, its praiseSings, were it strange if he be sad and love-sick for its sake?. . . . . . . . . .Prince of the Climate of Speech, noble Nishānji Pasha,To the mark of whose kindness the shaft of thought can its way never make.When poets into their hands the chaplet, thy verses, have ta’en,“I pardon implore of the Lord” for litany ever they take.
Mesīhī.
Harkthe bulbul’s lay so joyous: “Now have come the days of spring.”Merry shows and crowds on every mead they spread, a maze of spring;There the almond-tree its silvern blossoms scatters, sprays of spring:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Once again with varied flow’rets decked themselves have mead and plain;Tents for pleasure have the blossoms raised in every rosy lane.Who can tell, when spring hath ended, who and what may whole remain?Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.All the alleys of the parterre filled with Ahmed’s Light appear,Verdant herbs his Comrades, tulips like his Family bright appear;O ye People of Muhammed! times now of delight appear:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Sparkling dew-drops stud the lily’s leaf like sabre broad and keen;Bent on merry gypsy-party, crowd they all the flow’ry green;List to me, if thou desirest, these beholding, joy to glean:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Rose and tulip, like to lovely maidens’ cheeks, all beauteous show,While the dew-drops, like the jewels in their ears, resplendent glow;Do not think, thyself beguiling, things will aye continue so:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Rose, anemone, and tulip—these, the garden’s fairest flowers—’Midst the parterre is their blood shed ’neath the lightning-darts and showers.Art thou wise?—then with thy comrades dear enjoy the fleeting hours:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Past the moments when with sickness were the ailing herbs opprest,When the garden’s care, the rose-bud, hid its sad head in its breast;Come is now the time when hill and rock with tulips dense are drest:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.While each dawn the clouds are shedding jewels o’er the rosy land,And the breath of morning’s zephyr, fraught with Tātār musk is bland;While the world’s fair time is present, do not thou unheeding stand:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.With the fragrance of the garden, so imbued the musky air,Every dew-drop, ere it reaches earth, is turned to attar rare;O’er the parterre spread the incense-clouds a canopy right fair:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Whatsoe’er the garden boasted smote the black autumnal blast;But, to each one justice bringing, back hath come Earth’s King at last;In his reign joyed the cup-bearer, round the call for wine is past:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Ah! I fondly hope, Mesīhī, fame may to these quatrains cling;May the worthy these four-eyebrowed beauties oft to mem’ry bring;Stray among the rosy faces, Bulbul, who so sweet dost sing:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Mesīhī.
Harkthe bulbul’s lay so joyous: “Now have come the days of spring.”Merry shows and crowds on every mead they spread, a maze of spring;There the almond-tree its silvern blossoms scatters, sprays of spring:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Once again with varied flow’rets decked themselves have mead and plain;Tents for pleasure have the blossoms raised in every rosy lane.Who can tell, when spring hath ended, who and what may whole remain?Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.All the alleys of the parterre filled with Ahmed’s Light appear,Verdant herbs his Comrades, tulips like his Family bright appear;O ye People of Muhammed! times now of delight appear:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Sparkling dew-drops stud the lily’s leaf like sabre broad and keen;Bent on merry gypsy-party, crowd they all the flow’ry green;List to me, if thou desirest, these beholding, joy to glean:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Rose and tulip, like to lovely maidens’ cheeks, all beauteous show,While the dew-drops, like the jewels in their ears, resplendent glow;Do not think, thyself beguiling, things will aye continue so:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Rose, anemone, and tulip—these, the garden’s fairest flowers—’Midst the parterre is their blood shed ’neath the lightning-darts and showers.Art thou wise?—then with thy comrades dear enjoy the fleeting hours:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Past the moments when with sickness were the ailing herbs opprest,When the garden’s care, the rose-bud, hid its sad head in its breast;Come is now the time when hill and rock with tulips dense are drest:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.While each dawn the clouds are shedding jewels o’er the rosy land,And the breath of morning’s zephyr, fraught with Tātār musk is bland;While the world’s fair time is present, do not thou unheeding stand:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.With the fragrance of the garden, so imbued the musky air,Every dew-drop, ere it reaches earth, is turned to attar rare;O’er the parterre spread the incense-clouds a canopy right fair:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Whatsoe’er the garden boasted smote the black autumnal blast;But, to each one justice bringing, back hath come Earth’s King at last;In his reign joyed the cup-bearer, round the call for wine is past:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Ah! I fondly hope, Mesīhī, fame may to these quatrains cling;May the worthy these four-eyebrowed beauties oft to mem’ry bring;Stray among the rosy faces, Bulbul, who so sweet dost sing:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.Mesīhī.
Harkthe bulbul’s lay so joyous: “Now have come the days of spring.”Merry shows and crowds on every mead they spread, a maze of spring;There the almond-tree its silvern blossoms scatters, sprays of spring:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Once again with varied flow’rets decked themselves have mead and plain;Tents for pleasure have the blossoms raised in every rosy lane.Who can tell, when spring hath ended, who and what may whole remain?Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
All the alleys of the parterre filled with Ahmed’s Light appear,Verdant herbs his Comrades, tulips like his Family bright appear;O ye People of Muhammed! times now of delight appear:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Sparkling dew-drops stud the lily’s leaf like sabre broad and keen;Bent on merry gypsy-party, crowd they all the flow’ry green;List to me, if thou desirest, these beholding, joy to glean:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Rose and tulip, like to lovely maidens’ cheeks, all beauteous show,While the dew-drops, like the jewels in their ears, resplendent glow;Do not think, thyself beguiling, things will aye continue so:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Rose, anemone, and tulip—these, the garden’s fairest flowers—’Midst the parterre is their blood shed ’neath the lightning-darts and showers.Art thou wise?—then with thy comrades dear enjoy the fleeting hours:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Past the moments when with sickness were the ailing herbs opprest,When the garden’s care, the rose-bud, hid its sad head in its breast;Come is now the time when hill and rock with tulips dense are drest:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
While each dawn the clouds are shedding jewels o’er the rosy land,And the breath of morning’s zephyr, fraught with Tātār musk is bland;While the world’s fair time is present, do not thou unheeding stand:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
With the fragrance of the garden, so imbued the musky air,Every dew-drop, ere it reaches earth, is turned to attar rare;O’er the parterre spread the incense-clouds a canopy right fair:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Whatsoe’er the garden boasted smote the black autumnal blast;But, to each one justice bringing, back hath come Earth’s King at last;In his reign joyed the cup-bearer, round the call for wine is past:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Ah! I fondly hope, Mesīhī, fame may to these quatrains cling;May the worthy these four-eyebrowed beauties oft to mem’ry bring;Stray among the rosy faces, Bulbul, who so sweet dost sing:Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Mesīhī.
Bothcrown and robe forsake shall I, I’ll roam, by these unprest, a while;’Midst foreign lands, far off from here, I’ll dwell a wayworn guest, a while.O minstrel fair, both harp and lute’s sweet music hushed must now remain;Woe’s feast is spread, ah! there the flute:—my sighs by grief opprest, a while.Sometimes I’ll fall, sometimes I’ll rise, sometimes I’ll laugh, sometimes I’ll weep,Blood drinking now, woe tasting then, distracted sore I’ll rest, a while.Harīmī.
Bothcrown and robe forsake shall I, I’ll roam, by these unprest, a while;’Midst foreign lands, far off from here, I’ll dwell a wayworn guest, a while.O minstrel fair, both harp and lute’s sweet music hushed must now remain;Woe’s feast is spread, ah! there the flute:—my sighs by grief opprest, a while.Sometimes I’ll fall, sometimes I’ll rise, sometimes I’ll laugh, sometimes I’ll weep,Blood drinking now, woe tasting then, distracted sore I’ll rest, a while.Harīmī.
Bothcrown and robe forsake shall I, I’ll roam, by these unprest, a while;’Midst foreign lands, far off from here, I’ll dwell a wayworn guest, a while.O minstrel fair, both harp and lute’s sweet music hushed must now remain;Woe’s feast is spread, ah! there the flute:—my sighs by grief opprest, a while.Sometimes I’ll fall, sometimes I’ll rise, sometimes I’ll laugh, sometimes I’ll weep,Blood drinking now, woe tasting then, distracted sore I’ll rest, a while.
Harīmī.
Oncefrom sleep I oped my eyes, I raised my head, when full in sightThere before me stood a moon-faced beauty, lovely, shining, bright.Thought I: “In th’ ascendant’s now my star, or I my fate have reached,For within my chamber sure is risen Jupiter this night.”Radiance from his beauty streaming saw I, though to outward view(While himself a Muslim) he in garb of infidel is dight.Though I oped my eyes or closed them, still the form was ever there;Thus I fancied to myself: “A fairy this or angel bright?”Till the Resurrection ne’er shall Mihrī gain the Stream of Life;Yet in Night’s deep gloom Iskender gleamed before her wond’ring sight.Mihrī.
Oncefrom sleep I oped my eyes, I raised my head, when full in sightThere before me stood a moon-faced beauty, lovely, shining, bright.Thought I: “In th’ ascendant’s now my star, or I my fate have reached,For within my chamber sure is risen Jupiter this night.”Radiance from his beauty streaming saw I, though to outward view(While himself a Muslim) he in garb of infidel is dight.Though I oped my eyes or closed them, still the form was ever there;Thus I fancied to myself: “A fairy this or angel bright?”Till the Resurrection ne’er shall Mihrī gain the Stream of Life;Yet in Night’s deep gloom Iskender gleamed before her wond’ring sight.Mihrī.
Oncefrom sleep I oped my eyes, I raised my head, when full in sightThere before me stood a moon-faced beauty, lovely, shining, bright.Thought I: “In th’ ascendant’s now my star, or I my fate have reached,For within my chamber sure is risen Jupiter this night.”Radiance from his beauty streaming saw I, though to outward view(While himself a Muslim) he in garb of infidel is dight.Though I oped my eyes or closed them, still the form was ever there;Thus I fancied to myself: “A fairy this or angel bright?”Till the Resurrection ne’er shall Mihrī gain the Stream of Life;Yet in Night’s deep gloom Iskender gleamed before her wond’ring sight.
Mihrī.
Faithfuland kind a friend I hoped that thou wouldest prove to me;Who would have thought so cruel and fierce a tyrant in thee to see?Thou who the newly-oped rose art of the Garden of Paradise,That every thorn and thistle thou lov’st—how can it fitting be?I curse thee not, but of God Most High, Our Lord, I make this prayer—That thou may’st love a pitiless one in tyranny like to thee.In such a plight am I now, alack! that the curser saith to his foe:“Be thy fortune dark and thy portion black, even as those of Mihrī!”Mihrī.
Faithfuland kind a friend I hoped that thou wouldest prove to me;Who would have thought so cruel and fierce a tyrant in thee to see?Thou who the newly-oped rose art of the Garden of Paradise,That every thorn and thistle thou lov’st—how can it fitting be?I curse thee not, but of God Most High, Our Lord, I make this prayer—That thou may’st love a pitiless one in tyranny like to thee.In such a plight am I now, alack! that the curser saith to his foe:“Be thy fortune dark and thy portion black, even as those of Mihrī!”Mihrī.
Faithfuland kind a friend I hoped that thou wouldest prove to me;Who would have thought so cruel and fierce a tyrant in thee to see?Thou who the newly-oped rose art of the Garden of Paradise,That every thorn and thistle thou lov’st—how can it fitting be?I curse thee not, but of God Most High, Our Lord, I make this prayer—That thou may’st love a pitiless one in tyranny like to thee.In such a plight am I now, alack! that the curser saith to his foe:“Be thy fortune dark and thy portion black, even as those of Mihrī!”
Mihrī.
FromIstāmbōl’s throne a mighty host to Īrān guided I;Sunken deep in blood of shame I made the Golden Heads to lie.Glad the Slave, my resolution, lord of Egypt’s realm became:Thus I raised my royal banner e’en as the Nine Heavens high.From the kingdom fair of ‘Irāq to Hijāz these tidings sped,When I played the harp of Heavenly Aid at feast of victory.Through my sabre Transoxania drowned was in a sea of blood;Emptied I of kuhl of Isfahān the adversary’s eye.Flowed adown a River Āmū from each foeman’s every hair—Rolled the sweat of terror’s fever—if I happed him to espy.Bishop-mated was the King of India by my Queenly troops,When I played the Chess of empire on the Board of sov’reignty.O Selīmī, in thy name was struck the coinage of the world,When in crucible of Love Divine, like gold, that melted I.Selīmī.
FromIstāmbōl’s throne a mighty host to Īrān guided I;Sunken deep in blood of shame I made the Golden Heads to lie.Glad the Slave, my resolution, lord of Egypt’s realm became:Thus I raised my royal banner e’en as the Nine Heavens high.From the kingdom fair of ‘Irāq to Hijāz these tidings sped,When I played the harp of Heavenly Aid at feast of victory.Through my sabre Transoxania drowned was in a sea of blood;Emptied I of kuhl of Isfahān the adversary’s eye.Flowed adown a River Āmū from each foeman’s every hair—Rolled the sweat of terror’s fever—if I happed him to espy.Bishop-mated was the King of India by my Queenly troops,When I played the Chess of empire on the Board of sov’reignty.O Selīmī, in thy name was struck the coinage of the world,When in crucible of Love Divine, like gold, that melted I.Selīmī.
FromIstāmbōl’s throne a mighty host to Īrān guided I;Sunken deep in blood of shame I made the Golden Heads to lie.Glad the Slave, my resolution, lord of Egypt’s realm became:Thus I raised my royal banner e’en as the Nine Heavens high.From the kingdom fair of ‘Irāq to Hijāz these tidings sped,When I played the harp of Heavenly Aid at feast of victory.Through my sabre Transoxania drowned was in a sea of blood;Emptied I of kuhl of Isfahān the adversary’s eye.Flowed adown a River Āmū from each foeman’s every hair—Rolled the sweat of terror’s fever—if I happed him to espy.Bishop-mated was the King of India by my Queenly troops,When I played the Chess of empire on the Board of sov’reignty.O Selīmī, in thy name was struck the coinage of the world,When in crucible of Love Divine, like gold, that melted I.
Selīmī.
Mypain for thee balm in my sight resembles;Thy face’s beam the clear moonlight resembles.Thy black hair spread across thy cheeks, the roses,O Liege, the garden’s basil quite resembles.Beside thy lip oped wide its mouth, the rosebud;For shame it blushed, it blood outright resembles.Thy mouth, a casket fair of pearls and rubies,Thy teeth, pearls, thy lip coral bright resembles;Their diver I, each morning and each even;My weeping, Liege, the ocean’s might resembles.Lest he seduce thee, this my dread and terror,That rival who Iblīs in spite resembles.Around the taper bright, thy cheek, MuhibbīTurns, and the moth in his sad plight resembles.Muhibbī.
Mypain for thee balm in my sight resembles;Thy face’s beam the clear moonlight resembles.Thy black hair spread across thy cheeks, the roses,O Liege, the garden’s basil quite resembles.Beside thy lip oped wide its mouth, the rosebud;For shame it blushed, it blood outright resembles.Thy mouth, a casket fair of pearls and rubies,Thy teeth, pearls, thy lip coral bright resembles;Their diver I, each morning and each even;My weeping, Liege, the ocean’s might resembles.Lest he seduce thee, this my dread and terror,That rival who Iblīs in spite resembles.Around the taper bright, thy cheek, MuhibbīTurns, and the moth in his sad plight resembles.Muhibbī.
Mypain for thee balm in my sight resembles;Thy face’s beam the clear moonlight resembles.Thy black hair spread across thy cheeks, the roses,O Liege, the garden’s basil quite resembles.Beside thy lip oped wide its mouth, the rosebud;For shame it blushed, it blood outright resembles.Thy mouth, a casket fair of pearls and rubies,Thy teeth, pearls, thy lip coral bright resembles;Their diver I, each morning and each even;My weeping, Liege, the ocean’s might resembles.Lest he seduce thee, this my dread and terror,That rival who Iblīs in spite resembles.Around the taper bright, thy cheek, MuhibbīTurns, and the moth in his sad plight resembles.
Muhibbī.