Chapter XVIII

If you should meet the Loved One as you stray, O give my letter secretly to her, Then haste away And do not tell my name, O Messenger.

O Morning Winds that from the garden blow, Should you meet one like me forlorn and sad, On him bestow The peace and solace I have never had.

O Eyes that weep and weep unsatisfied, That shed such floods, yet never find relief, O stem your tide Lest you should drown the world in seas of grief.

She need not have one anxious doubt of me, She need not fear my further wanderings-- How can I flee? How can a bird escape, deprived of wings?

FIGHAN.