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.
Bāqī.

GAZEL

The goblet as affliction’s Khusrev’s bright Keyānī crown doth shine;
 And surely doth the wine-jar love’s King’s Khusrevānī hoard enshrine.
 Whene’er the feast recalls Jemshīd, down from its eyes the red blood rolls;
 The rosy-tinted wine its tears, the beakers its blood-weeping eyne.
 At parting’s banquet should the cup, the heart, with blood brim o’er were’t strange?
 A bowl that, to the fair we’ll drain, a goblet filled full high with wine.
 O Moon, if by thy door one day the foe should sudden me o’ertake—
 A woe by Heaven decreed, a fate to which I must myself resign!
 The fume of beauty’s and of grace’s censer is thy cheek’s sweet mole,
 The smoke thereof thy musky locks that spreading fragrant curl and twine;
 Thy cheek rose-hued doth light its taper at the moon that shines most bright,
 Its candlestick at grace’s feast is yonder collar fair of thine.
 Of love and passion is the lustrous sheen of Bāqī’s verse the cause;
 As Life’s Stream brightly this doth shine; but that, th’ Eternal Life Divine.
Bāqī.

GAZEL

When the sheets have yonder Torment to their bosom ta’en to rest,
 Think I, “Hides the night-adorning Moon within the cloudlet’s breast.”
 In the dawning, O thou turtle, mourn not with those senseless plaints;
 In the bosom of some stately cypress thou’rt a nightly guest.
 Why thou weepest from the heavens, never can I think, O dew;
 Every night some lovely rose’s bosom fair thou enterest.
 Hath the pearl seen in the story of thy teeth its tale of shame,
 Since the sea hath hid the album of the shell within its breast?
 Longing for thy cheeks, hath Bāqī all his bosom marked with scars,
 Like as though he’d cast of rose-leaves fresh a handful o’er his chest.
Bāqī.

ELEGY ON SULTAN SULEYMĀN I

O thou! foot-bounden in the mesh of fame and glory’s snare!
 Till when shall last the lust of faithless earth’s pursuits and care?
 At that first moment, which of life’s fair springtide is the last,
 ’Tis need the tulip cheek the tint of autumn leaf should wear;
 ’Tis need that thy last home should be, e’en like the dregs’, the dust;
 ’Tis need the stone from hand of Fate should be joy’s beaker’s share.
 He is a man indeed whose heart is as a mirror clear;
 Man art thou? why then doth thy breast the tiger’s fierceness bear?
 In understanding’s eye how long shall heedless slumber bide?
 Will not war’s Lion-Monarch’s fate suffice to make thee ware?
 He, Prince of Fortune’s Cavaliers! he to whose charger bold,
 Whene’er he caracoled or pranced, cramped was earth’s tourney square!
 He, to the lustre of whose sword the Magyar bowed his head!
 He, the dread gleaming of whose brand the Frank can well declare!
 Like tender rose-leaf, gently laid he in the dust his face,
 And Earth, the Treasurer, him placed like jewel in his case.
In truth, he was the radiance of rank high and glory great,
 A Shah, Iskender-diademed, of Dārā’s armied state;
 Before the dust beneath his feet the Sphere bent low its head;
 Earth’s shrine of adoration was his royal pavilion’s gate.
 The smallest of his gifts the meanest beggar made a prince;
 Exceeding bounteous, exceeding kind a Potentate!
 The court of glory of his kingly majesty most high
 Was aye the centre where would hopes of sage and poet wait.
 Although he yielded to Eternal Destiny’s command,
 A King was he in might as Doom and puissant as Fate!
 Weary and worn by this sad, changeful Sphere, deem not thou him:
 Near God to be, did he his rank and glory abdicate.
 What wonder if our eyes no more life and the world behold!
 His beauty fair, as sun and moon, did earth irradiate!
 If folk upon the bright sun look, with tears are filled their eyes;
 For seeing it, doth yon moon-face before their minds arise!
Now let the cloud blood drop on drop weep, and its form bend low!
 And let the Judas-tree anew in blossoms gore-hued blow!
 With this sad anguish let the stars’ eyes rain down bitter tears!
 And let the smoke from hearts on fire the heavens all darkened show!
 Their azure garments let the skies change into deepest black!
 Let the whole world attire itself in robes of princely woe!
 In breasts of fairies and of men still let the flame burn on—
 Of parting from the blest King Suleymān the fiery glow!
 His home above the highest heaven’s ramparts he hath made;
 This world was all unworthy of his majesty, I trow.
 The bird, his soul, hath, huma-like, aloft flown to the skies,
 And naught remaineth save a few bones on the earth below.
 The speeding Horseman of the plain of Time and Space was he;
 Fortune and Fame aye as his friends and bridle guides did go.
 The wayward courser, cruel Fate, was wild and fierce of pace,
 And fell to earth the Shade of God the Lord’s benignant Grace.
Through grief for thee, bereft of rest and tearful e’en as I,
 Sore weeping let the cloud of spring go wand’ring through the sky!
 And let the wailing of the birds of dawn the whole world fill!
 Be roses torn! and let the nightingale distressful cry!
 Their hyacinths as weeds of woe displaying, let them weep,
 Down o’er their skirts their flowing tears let pour—the mountains high!
 The odor of thy kindliness recalling, tulip-like,
 Within the Tātār musk-deer’s heart let fire of anguish lie!
 Through yearning for thee let the rose its ear lay on the path,
 And, narcisse-like, till the last day the watchman’s calling ply!
 Although the pearl-diffusing eye to oceans turned the world,
 Ne’er into being should there come a pearl with thee to vie!
 O heart! this hour ’tis thou that sympathizer art with me;
 Come, let us like the flute bewail, and moan, and plaintive sigh!
 The notes of mourning and of dole aloud let us rehearse;
 And let all those who grieve be moved by this our sevenfold verse.
Will earth’s King ne’er awake from sleep?—broke hath the dawn of day:
 Will ne’er he move forth from his tent, adorned as heaven’s display?
 Long have our eyes dwelt on the road, and yet no news hath come
 From yonder land, the threshold of his majesty’s array:
 The color of his cheek hath paled, dry-lipped he lieth there,
 E’en like that rose which from the vase of flowers hath fall’n away.
 Goes now the Khusrev of the skies behind the cloudy veil,
 For shame, remembering thy love and kindness, one would say.
 My prayer is ever, “May the babes, his tears, go ’neath the sod,
 Or old or young be he who weeps not thee in sad dismay.”
 With flame of parting from thee let the sun burn and consume;
 And o’er the wastes through grief let darkness of the clouds hold sway.
 Thy talents and thy feats let it recall and weep in blood,
 Yea, let thy sabre from its sheath plunge in the darksome clay.
 Its collar, through its grief and anguish, let the reed-pen tear!
 And let the earth its vestment rend through sorrow and despair!
Thy sabre made the foe the anguish dire of wounds to drain;
 Their tongues are silenced, none who dares to gainsay doth remain.
 The youthful cypress, head-exalted, looked upon thy lance,
 And ne’er its lissom twigs their haughty airs displayed again.
 Where’er thy stately charger placed his hoof, from far and near
 Flocked nobles, all upon thy path their lives to offer fain.
 In desert of mortality the bird, desire, rests ne’er;
 Thy sword in cause of God did lives as sacrifice ordain.
 As sweeps a scimitar, across earth’s face on every side,
 Of iron-girded heroes of the world thou threw’st a chain.
 Thou took’st a thousand idol temples, turnèdst all to mosques;
 Where jangled bells thou mad’st be sung the Call to Prayers’ strain.
 At length is struck the signal drum, and thou hast journeyed hence;
 Lo! thy first resting-place is Eden’s flowery, verdant plain.
 Praise is to God! for he in the Two Worlds hath blessèd thee,
 And caused thy glorious name, Hero and Martyr both to be.
Bāqī, the beauty of the King, the heart’s delight, behold!
 The mirror of the work of God, the Lord of Right, behold!
 The dear old man hath passed away from th’ Egypt sad, the world;
 The youthful Prince, alert and fair as Joseph bright, behold!
 The Sun hath risen, and the Dawning gray hath touched its bourne;
 The lovely face of yon Khusrev, whose soul is light, behold!
 This chase now to the grave hath sent the Behrām of the Age;
 Go, at his threshold serve, King Erdeshīr aright, behold!
 The blast of Fate to all the winds hath blown Suleymān’s throne;
 Sultan Selīm Khān on Iskender’s couch of might, behold!
 The Tiger of the mount of war to rest in sleep hath gone;
 The Lion who doth now keep watch on glory’s height, behold!
 The Peacock fair of Eden’s mead hath soared to Heaven’s parterre;
 The lustre of the huma of high, happy flight, behold!
 Eternal may the glory of the heaven-high Khusrev dwell!
 Blessings be on the Monarch’s soul and spirit—and farewell!
Bāqī.

GAZEL

Cruel tyranny we love not, nay, to justice we incline;
 Full contentedly our eyes wait for the blest command divine.
 Know we truly, for a mirror, world-reflecting, is our heart;
 Yet conceive not us to Fortune’s ever-changeful ways supine.
 To the rule of God submissive, all concern we cast aside;
 We indeed on him confiding, on his providence recline.
 Shall our heart anoint its eye then with the kuhl of Isfahān?
 Pleased it with this tūtyā: dust that doth the Fair One’s pathway line.
 Since our heart, ‘Adlī, within Love’s crucible was purified,
 ’Midst the universe, from guile and guilt free, bright our soul doth shine.
‘Adlī.

GAZEL

Oh that a fragrant breath might reach the soul from early spring!
 Oh that with warbling sweet of birds the groves once more might ring!
 Oh that in melody the songs anew might rose-like swell!
 That fresh in grace and voice the nightingale be heard to sing!
 Oh that the New Year’s Day were come, when, minding times gone by,
 Should each and all from Time and Fate demand their reckoning!
 In short, O Bakhtī, would the early vernal days were here,
 Then, ’midst the mead, ne’er should we part from brink of limpid spring.
Bakhtī.

GAZEL

Soon as I beheld thee, mazed and wildered grew my sad heart;
 How shall I my love disclose to thee who tyrant dread art?
 How shall I hold straight upon my road, when yonder Torment
 Smitten hath my breast with deadly wounds by her eyelash dart?
 Face, a rose; and mouth, a rosebud; form, a slender sapling—
 How shall I not be the slave of Princess such as thou art?
 Ne’er hath heart a beauty seen like her of graceful figure;
 Joyous would I for yon charmer’s eyebrow with my life part.
 Fārisī, what can I do but love that peerless beauty?
 Ah! this aged Sphere hath made me lover of yon sweetheart.
Fārisī.

MUSEDDES

Ah! that once again my heart with blood is filled, like beaker, high;
 At the feast of parting from my love I fell, and prostrate lie;
 O’er this wildered heart the gloom of frenzy, conquering, doth fly;
 In the valley of distraction ne’er a guide can I descry.
 Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
 Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!
In the land of exile loomed dark on one side the night of woe,
 Nowhere o’er me did the lustrous moon of beauty’s heaven glow;
 Yonder glared the Two Infortunes, sank my helping planet low;
 Here did fortune, there did gladness, parting from me, distant go.
 Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
 Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!
Strange is’t if the nightingale, my heart, in thousand notes doth wail?
 Fate to part it from the rosebud, the belovèd, did prevail;
 Whilst I’m on the thorn of anguish, rivals with my love regale:
 Why recite my woes, O comrades? space were none to tell their tale!
 Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
 Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!
E’en a moment at the feast of woes from tears can I refrain?
 How shall not the wine, my tears, down rolling, all my vestment stain?
 Can it be with e’en one breath I should not like the reed complain?
 Sad, confused, like end of banquet, why then should not I remain?
 Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
 Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!
Yonder Princess, though I served her, pitiless drave me away,
 Banished me far from her city, sent me from her court’s array:
 When I parted from her tresses, black the world before me lay;
 Helpless ’midst the darkness did I, like unto ‘Atā’ī, stray.
 Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
 Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!
‘Atā’ī.

GAZEL

Be thou wise and thoughtful, e’en as qalender in mind be free;
 Nor a faithless, graceless paynim, nor a bigot Moslem be.
 Be not vain of wisdom, though thou be the Plato of the age;
 Be a school-child when a learned man and righteous thou dost see.
 Like the world-adorning sun, rub thou thy face low ’midst the dust;
 Overwhelm earth with thy planet, yet without a planet be.
 Fret not after Khizar, rather go, and, like to Nef’ī’s heart,
 At the channel of Life’s Stream of grace drink full contentedly.
Nefī.

TO SULTAN MURĀD IV

Round us foes throng, host to aid us here in sad plight, is there none?
 In the cause of God to combat, chief of tried might, is there none?
 None who will checkmate the foe, Castle to Castle, face to face
 In the battle who will Queen-like guide the brave Knight, is there none?
 Midst a fearful whirlpool we are fallen helpless, send us aid!
 Us to rescue, a strong swimmer in our friends’ sight, is there none?
 Midst the fight to be our comrade, head to give or heads to take,
 On the field of earth a hero of renown bright, is there none?
 Know we not wherefore in turning off our woes ye thus delay;
 Day of Reckoning, aye, and question of the poor’s plight, is there none?
 With us ’midst the foeman’s flaming streams of scorching fire to plunge,
 Salamander with experience of Fate dight, is there none?
 This our letter, to the court of Sultan Murād, quick to bear,
 Pigeon, rapid as the storm wind in its swift flight, is there none?
Hāfiz Pacha.

IN REPLY TO THE PRECEDING

To relieve Bagdad, O Hāfiz, man of tried might, is there none?
 Aid from us thou seek’st, then with thee host of fame bright, is there none?
 “I’m the Queen the foe who’ll checkmate,” thus it was that thou didst say;
 Room for action now against him with the brave Knight, is there none?
 Though we know thou hast no rival in vainglorious, empty boasts,
 Yet to take dread vengeance on thee, say, a Judge right, is there none?
 While thou layest claim to manhood, whence this cowardice of thine?
 Thou art frightened, yet beside thee fearing no fight, is there none?
 Heedless of thy duty thou, the Rāfizīs have ta’en Bagdad;
 Shall not God thy foe be? Day of Reckoning, sure, right, is there none?
 They have wrecked Ebū-Hanīfa’s city through thy lack of care;
 Oh, in thee of Islām’s and the Prophet’s zeal, light, is there none?
 God who favored us, whilst yet we knew not, with the Sultanate,
 Shall again accord Bagdad, decreed of God’s might, is there none?
 Thou hast brought on Islām’s army direful ruin with thy bribes;
 Have we not heard how thou say’st, “Word of this foul blight, is there none?”
 With the aid of God, fell vengeance on the enemy to take,
 By me skilled and aged, vezīr, pious, zeal-dight, is there none?
 Now shall I appoint commander a vezīr of high emprise,
 Will not Khizar and the Prophet aid him? guide right, is there none?
 Is it that thou dost the whole world void and empty now conceive?
 Of the Seven Climes, Murādī, King of high might, is there none?
Murādī.

LUGAZ

There’s an o’erhanging castle in which there flows a main,
 And there within that castle a fish its home hath ta’en;
 The fish within its mouth doth hold a shining gem,
 Which wastes the fish as long as it therein doth remain.
 This puzzle to the poets is offered by Murād;
 Let him reply who office or place desires to gain.
Murādī.

SACHLI ZEMĀN (FORTUNE THE LONG-HAIRED)