Chapter IV: Front Matter (4)

The early 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._

FROM THE QASĪDA ON THE ACCESSION OF SULTAN BĀYEZĪD II

One eve, when had the Sun before her radiant beauty bright
Let 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._

GAZEL

Truth this: 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._

RUBĀ’ĪS

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._

FROM THE SPRING QASĪDA

Up from 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 praise
Sings, 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._

MUREBBA’

Hark the 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._

FRAGMENT

Both crown 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._

GAZEL

Once from sleep I oped my eyes, I raised my head, when full in sight
There 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._

GAZEL

Faithful and 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._

GAZEL

From Istāmbōl’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._

GAZEL

My pain 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, Muhibbī
Turns, and the moth in his sad plight resembles.

_Muhibbī._

GAZEL

He who 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_.

GAZEL

A flame that 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 sword
Doth like unto a running stream of limpid water flow.

_Figānī_.

ON AUTUMN

O sad heart, 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_.

ON SPRING

From the 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_.

ROSE TIME

O heart, 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-bird
From 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 high
Of junipers and cypresses two ranks ’tween,
The zephyr sports and dances o’er the flower-green.
The streamlets ’midst the vineyard hide-and-seek play
The 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_.

FROM AN ELEGY ON SULTAN SELĪM I

He, an old man in prudence, a youth in might;
His sword aye triumphant, his word ever right
Like 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._

FROM AN ELEGY ON ISKENDER CHELEBI

High honored 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 remnant
Of 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 stainless
Strewn hath the blast of betrayal profane.
The Lofty Decree for his high exaltation
Did 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, never
Was honor most lofty, most glorious, ta’en!

_Gazālī._

FRAGMENT

Come is 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._

GAZEL

Dead am 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._

ON THE PROPHET MUHAMMED

That thy 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 gains
Through the money bright, thy love, which is of joy the stock-in-trade.
This, my hope, that yonder Cypress in the bowers of Paradise
Shelter Zātī, and all true believers, ’neath his blissful shade.

_Zātī._

GAZEL

Through thine 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._

GAZEL

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._

GAZEL

One with 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._

GAZEL

With longing 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._

GAZEL

O breeze, 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 thou
news hast brought.

_Fuzūlī._

GAZEL

O thou Perfect 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 might
Hath with rays of stars illumined yonder gleaming page, the skies.
That a happy star, indeed, the essence clear of whose bright self
Truly knoweth how the blessings from thy word that flow to prize.
But a jewel flawed am faulty I: alas, forever stands
Blank 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._

GAZEL

Is’t strange 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 the _hūrī_-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._

GAZEL

From the 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._

MUSEDDES

A stately Cypress 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._

MUKHAMMES

Attar within 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._

FROM LEYLĪ AND MEJNŪN

Yield not 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._

MEJNŪN ADDRESSES NEVFIL

Quoth Mejnūn: “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._

MEJNŪN’S GAZEL

From whomsoever 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._

ZEYD’S VISION

His grief 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._

GAZEL

I began love’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 thee
Have 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._

GAZEL

Hand in 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 Lord
In 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, two _nūns_ had painted fair.
O Selīmī, on the sweetheart’s cheek the down
Is thy sighs’ fume, which, alas, hath rested there.

_Selīmī._

GAZEL

Ta’en my 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 heart
Have his head and soul abandoned, plunging ’neath love’s ocean-swell.

_Selīmī._

GAZEL

Thy veil 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._

GAZEL

The rival entry free hath to the loved one’s ward, but none have I;
Regard unto the very dogs they there accord, but none have I.
The heart doth seize the Magian’s hand; the cup-bearer, his glass; but I--
For gentle love they grant to these their due reward, but none have I.
To gain regard I would complain loud as the dogs within thy ward,
For these have power their plight to show, their griefs record, but
none have I.
From all eternity have I to Mejnūn taught the pang of love,
How then do all the folk to him renown award, but none have I?
To God be praise that brightly shines the mirror of my heart, Shemsī,
For more or less earth’s glass with dust is soiled or marred, but
none have I.

_Shemsī Pacha._

FROM THE “KING AND BEGGAR”

Parrot, sweet of voice, thy song now raise!
All thy words purify in Love’s fierce blaze!
Every point of Love as whole book shows;
Every mote of Love as bright sun glows.
Drowned in one drop thereof Time, Space, in sooth;
Lost in one grain thereof Both Worlds, in truth.
Man becomes man through Love, pure, bright,
Teacher respected, guide of the right.
Through its beams everything man as chief owns,
Rays of sun into rubies turn black stones.

* * * * *

He who a Lover is on God relies;
On, on, upward still doth he rise.
One day he secrets all shall descry,
Love makes the soul from sleep raise the eye;
Unto him all things shall oped be and shown,
Off e’en the curtain from God shall be thrown.

_Yahya Beg._

GAZEL

Yea, on God’s favor all my trust I place;
Ah! how my soul desireth his dear grace!
Since with the Lord I have my heart made right,
All of my hope upon his aid I base.
I upon troops and treasures no faith lay;
Nay, to the Hosts Unseen I leave my case.
Bravely strive on, the Holy Warfare fight;
Firm, in God’s cause to war, I’ve set my face.
By him, I trust, received my prayer may be;
For, on acceptance I my whole hope place.

_Murādī._

QAĪSDA

One night when all the battlements Heaven’s castle doth display,
Illumed and decked were, with the shining lamps, the stars’ array,
Amidst the host of gleaming stars the Moon lit up his torch;
Athwart the field of Heaven with radiance beamed the Milky Way.
The Secretary of the Spheres had ta’en his meteor-pen,
That writer of his signature whom men and jinns obey.
There, at the banquet of the sky, had Venus struck her lyre,
In mirth and happiness, delighted, joyed and smiling gay.
Taking the keynote for her tune ’neath in the vaulted sphere,
The tambourinist Sun her visage bright had hid away.
Armed with a brand of gleaming gold had leapt into the plain
The Swordsman of the sky’s expanse, of heaven’s field of fray.
To give direction to the weighty matters of the earth
Had Jupiter, the wise, lit up reflection’s taper’s ray.
There raised aloft old Saturn high upon the Seventh Sphere
Sitting like Indian elephant-conductor on did stray.
“What means this decking of the universe?” I wond’ring said;
When, lo! with meditation’s gaze e’en whilst I it survey,
Casting its beams on every side, o’er all earth rose the Sun,
O’er the horizons, e’en as Seal of Suleymān’s display.
The eye of understanding looked upon this wondrous sight;
At length the soul’s ear learned the secret hid in this which lay:
What is it that hath decked earth’s hall with splendors such as this,
Saving the might and fortune of the King who earth doth sway?
He who sits high upon the throne above all crowned kings,
The Hero of the battlefield of dread Keyānī fray,
Jemshīd of happiness and joy, Darius of the fight,
Khusrev of right and clemency, Iskender of his day!

Lord of the East and West! King whom the kings of earth obey!
Prince of the Epoch! Sultan Suleymān! Triumphant Aye!

Meet ’tis before the steed of yonder Monarch of the realms
Of right and equity, should march earth’s rulers’ bright array.
Rebelled one ’gainst his word, secure he’d bind him in his bonds,
E’en like the dappled pard, the sky, chained with the Milky Way.
Lord of the land of graciousness and bounty, on whose board
Of favors, spread is all the wealth that sea and mine display;
Longs the perfumer, Early Spring, for th’ odor of his grace;
Need hath the merchant, Autumn, of his bounteous hand alway.
Through tyrant’s hard oppression no one groaneth in his reign,
And though may wail the flute and lute, the law they disobey.
Beside thy justice, tyranny’s the code of Key-Qubād;
Beside thy wrath, but mildness Qahramān’s most deadly fray.
Thy scimitar’s the gleaming guide empires to overthrow,
No foe of Islām can abide before thy sabre’s ray.
Saw it thy wrath, through dread of thee would trembling seize the pine;
The falling stars a chain around the heaven’s neck would lay.
Amidst thy sea-like armies vast, thy flags and standards fair,
The sails are which the ship of splendid triumph doth display.
Thrust it its beak into the Sphere, ’twould seize it as a grain,
The ‘_anqa_ strong, thy power, to which ’twere but a seed-like prey.
In past eternity the hand, thy might, it struck with bat,
That time is this time, for the Sky’s Ball spins upon its way.
Within the rosy garden of thy praise the bird, the heart,
Singeth this soul-bestowing, smooth-as-water-running lay.

If yonder mouth be not the soul, O heart-enslaver gay,
Then wherefore is it like the soul, hid from our eyes away?
Since in the casket of our mind thy ruby’s picture lies,
The mine is now no fitting home for gem of lustrous ray.
Thy tresses fall across thy cheek in many a twisting curl,
“To dance to Hijāz have the Shāmīs tucked their skirts,” we’d say.
Let both the youthful pine and cypress view thy motions fair;
The gardener now to rear the willow need no more assay.
The dark and cloudy brained of men thine eyebrows black depict,
While those of keen, discerning wit thy glistening teeth portray.
Before thy cheek the rose and jasmine bowèd in _sujūd_,
The cypress to thy figure in _qiyām_ did homage pay.
The heart’s throne is the seat of that great monarch, love for thee;
The soul, the secret court, where doth thy ruby’s picture stay.
The radiance of thy beauty bright hath filled earth like the sun,
The hall, “BE! and it is,” resounds with love of thee for aye.
The cries of those on plain of earth have risen to the skies,
The shouts of those who dwell above have found to earth their way.
Nor can the nightingale with songs as sweet as Bāqī’s sing,
Nor happy as thy star can beam the garden’s bright array.
The mead, the world, blooms through thy beauty’s rose, like Irem’s bower;
On every side are nightingales of sweet, melodious lay.
Now let us pray at Allah’s court: “May this for aye endure,
The might and glory of this prospered King’s resplendent sway;
Until the lamp, the world-illuming sun, at break of dawn,
A silver candelabrum on the circling skies display,
Oh! may the Ruler of the world with skirt of aid and grace
Protect the taper of his life from blast of doom, we pray!”
Glory’s the comrade; Fortune, the cup-bearer at our feast;
The beaker is the Sphere; the bowl, the Steel of gold-inlay!

_Bāqī._

GAZEL

’Tis love’s wild sea, my sighs’ fierce wind doth lash those waves
my tears uprear;
My head, the barque of sad despite; mine eyebrows twain, the anchors here.
Mine unkempt hair, the den of yonder tiger dread, the fair one’s love;
My head, dismay and sorrow’s realm’s deserted mountain region drear.
At whatsoever feast I drain the cup thy rubies’ mem’ry to,
Amidst all those who grace that feast, except the dregs, I’ve no
friend near.
Thou know’st, O Light of my poor eyes, with _tūtyā_ mixed are gems
full bright,
What then if weep on thy path’s dust mine eyes that scatter pearls
most clear!
The Sphere, old hag, with witchcraft’s spell hath parted me from
my fond love,
O Bāqī, see, by God, how vile a trick yon jade hath played me here!

_Bāqī._

GAZEL

Years trodden under foot have I lain on that path of thine;
Thy musky locks are noose-like cast, around my feet to twine.
O Princess mine! boast not thyself through loveliness of face,
For that, alas, is but a sun which must full soon decline!
The loved one’s stature tall, her form as fair as juniper,
Bright ’midst the rosy bowers of grace a slender tree doth shine.
Her figure, fair-proportioned as my poesy sublime,
Her slender waist is like its subtle thought--hard to divine.
Then yearn not, Bāqī, for the load of love’s misfortune dire;
For that to bear mayhap thy soul no power doth enshrine.

_Bāqī._

GAZEL

With her graceful-moving form, a Cypress jasmine-faced is she?
Or in Eden’s bower a branch upon the Lote or Tūba-tree?
That thy blood-stained shaft which rankles in my wounded breast, my love,
In the rosebud hid a lovely rose-leaf, sweetheart, can it be?
To the dead of pain of anguish doth its draught fresh life impart;
O cup-bearer, is the red wine Jesu’s breath? tell, tell to me!
Are they teeth those in thy mouth, or on the rosebud drops of dew?
Are they sparkling stars, or are they gleaming pearls, that there I see?
Through the many woes thou wreakest upon Bāqī, sick of heart,
Is’t thy will to slay him, or is it but sweet disdain in thee?

_Bāqī._

GAZEL

Before thy form, the box-tree’s lissom figure dwarfed would show;
Those locks of thine the pride of ambergris would overthrow.
Who, seeing thy cheek’s glow, recalls the ruby is deceived;
He who hath drunken deep of wine inebriate doth grow.
Should she move forth with figure like the juniper in grace,
The garden’s cypress to the loved one’s form must bend right low.
Beware, give not the mirror bright to yonder paynim maid,
Lest she idolater become, when there her face doth show.
Bāqī, doth he not drink the wine of obligation’s grape,
Who drunken with A-lestu’s cup’s o’erwhelming draught doth go?

_Bāqī._

GAZEL

Thy cheek, like limpid water, clear doth gleam;
Thy pouting mouth a bubble round doth seem.
The radiance of thy cheek’s sun on the heart
Like moonlight on the water’s face doth beam.
The heart’s page, through the tracings of thy down,
A volume all illumined one would deem.
That fair Moon’s sunny love the earth have burned,
It warm as rays of summer sun doth stream.
At woful sorrow’s feast my blood-shot eyes,
Two beakers of red wine would one esteem.
Bāqī, her mole dark-hued like ambergris,
A fragrant musk-pod all the world would deem.

_Bāqī._

GAZEL

All sick the heart with love for her, sad at the feast of woe;
Bent form, the harp; low wail, the flute; heart’s blood for wine
doth flow.
Prone lies the frame her path’s dust ’neath, in union’s stream the eye,
In air the mind, the soul ’midst separation’s fiery glow.
Oh, ever shall it be my lot, zone-like, thy waist to clasp!
’Twixt us, O love, the dagger blade of severance doth show!
Thou art the Queen of earth, thy cheeks are Towers of might, this day,
Before thy Horse, like Pawns, the Kings of grace and beauty go.
Him hinder not, beside thee let him creep, O Shade-like stay!
Bāqī, thy servant, O my Queen, before thee lieth low.

_Bāqī._

ON AUTUMN

Lo, ne’er a trace or sign of springtide’s beauty doth remain;
Fall’n ’midst the garden lie the leaves, now all their glory vain.
Bleak stand the orchard trees, all clad in tattered dervish rags;
Dark Autumn’s blast hath torn away the hands from off the plane.
From each hill-side they come and cast their gold low at the feet
Of garden trees, as hoped the streams from these some boon to gain.
Stay not within the parterre, let it tremble with its shame:
Bare every shrub, this day doth naught or leaf or fruit retain.
Bāqī, within the garden lies full many a fallen leaf;
Low lying there, it seems they ’gainst the winds of Fate complain.

_Bāqī._

GAZEL

Tulip-cheeked ones over rosy field and plain stray all around;
Mead and garden cross they, looking wistful each way, all around.
These the lovers true of radiant faces, aye, but who the fair?
Lissom Cypress, thou it is whom eager seek they all around.
Band on band Woe’s legions camped before the City of the Heart,
There, together leagued, sat Sorrow, Pain, Strife, Dismay, all around.
From my weeping flows the river of my tears on every side,
Like an ocean ’tis again, a sea that casts spray all around.
Forth through all the Seven Climates have the words of Bāqī gone;
This refulgent verse recited shall be alway, all around.

_Bāqī._

GAZEL

From thine own beauty’s radiant sun doth light flow;
How lustrously doth now the crystal glass show!
Thy friend’s the beaker, and the cup’s thy comrade;
Like to the dregs why dost thou me aside throw?
Hearts longing for thy beauty can resist not;
Hold, none can bear the dazzling vision’s bright glow!
United now the lover, and now parted;
This world is sometimes pleasure and sometimes woe.
Bound in the spell of thy locks’ chain is Bāqī,
Mad he, my Liege, and to the mad they grace show.