Zemān the Long-haired, ’midst these lovely ones see,
 A wayward, wanton Torment of the world she.
 Like Fortune, she nor clemency nor grace knows;
 The number of her hairs her lovers’ tale shows.
 The tribute from the realm of hearts her curls bore,
 Seduced me have these locks that hang her neck o’er.
‘Azīzī.

JIHĀN BĀNŪ (LADY WORLD)

She whom they call Jihān ’s a damsel moon-faced,
 Who, like the World, is faithless, and doth hearts waste.
 Save faithlessness, though comes not from the World aught;
 The heart from that love of the soul can pass not.
 Let but her mind contented be with poor me,
 Then may the World divorced from me for aye be.
‘Azīzī.

LĀ‘L-PARA (RUBY-CHIP)

Lā‘l-Para as her name doth one of these own,
 A girl whose heart is hard as is the flint-stone.
 Her mouth in very truth’s a ruby bright red,
 Her teeth are pearls, so too the words by her said.
 Strange were it, if my heart be by her love slaved?
 For sooth her rubies bear the “coral-prayer” graved.
‘Azīzī.

ĀQ-‘ĀLEM (WHITE UNIVERSE)

And Aq-‘Alem they one of yonder maids call,
 For her the moon of heaven acteth jackal.
 Is’t strange if through her loveliness she famed be?
 A white Rose on the earth is yonder Hūrī.
 He who with that bright Moon as friend goes,
 A universe enjoys more fair than earth shows.
’Azīzī.

MUSEDDES

Be mine for dress, the piercing thorn! be mine for couch, the hard, hard stone!
 Be mine for home, grief’s cot! be mine for bread, woe’s tears! for work, pain’s moan!
 Be all my bleeding frame with wounds of cruel foeman’s hatred sown!
 Be these rejoiced in heart and gay who make my grieving soul to groan!
 Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
 Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast prone!”
Unfaithfulness is aye the rule which guides the Sphere that loves to pain,
 The inborn nature of the Skies is but to manifest disdain;
 Within the breasts of those who pleasure seek there lurks some yearning vain;
 O heart, blest is the practice of the thought enshrined in this refrain:
 Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
 Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast prone!”
When time is past, rejoiced shall swell the hearts of all my comrades dear;
 And through their cruelty—my choice—my foes shall mourn in sorrow drear.
 Let all those learn this verse of me who hap to come my pathway near,
 And let them from the tongues of that green sward which decks my grave this hear:
 Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
 Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast prone!”
Within this hostel of the world my portion is the tray of dole;
 My eye, the birthplace of the flame, refuseth health’s most pleasant stole;
 Fatigue, the rest of my sad heart; anguish, the present to my soul;
 Ne’er through Eternity to gain my longing is my longing’s goal.
 Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
 Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast prone!”
O Nā‘ilī, is’t possible to change or alter Fate’s decree?
 Annulled can ever be the edict writ by pen of Destiny?
 My heart is gladdened with this thought, that ne’er an hour’s delay can be
 In whetting keen and sharp that axe of pain which rust can never see.
 Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
 Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast prone!”
Nā‘ilī.

GAZEL

He who union with the Lord gains, more delight desireth not!
 He who looks on charms of fair one, other sight desireth not.
 Pang of love is lover’s solace, eagerly he seeks therefor,
 Joys he in it, balm or salve for yonder blight, desireth not.
 Paradise he longs not after, nor doth aught beside regard;
 Bower and Garden, Mead, and Youth, and Hūrī bright, desireth not.
 From the hand of Power Unbounded draineth he the Wine of Life,
 Aye inebriate with Knowledge, learning’s light, desireth not.
 He who loves the Lord is monarch of an empire, such that he—
 King of Inward Mysteries—Suleymān’s might, desireth not.
 Thou art Sultan of my heart, aye, Soul of my soul e’en art Thou;
 Thou art Soul enow, and Sidqī other plight desireth not.
Sidqī.

MUNĀJĀT

Allah! Lord who liv’st for aye! O Sole! O King of Glory’s Ray!
 Monarch who ne’er shalt pass away! show Thou to us Thy bounties fair.
 In early morning shall our cry, our wail, mount to Thy Throne on high:
 “Error and sin our wont,” we sigh: show Thou to us Thy bounties fair.
 If cometh not from Thee Thy grace, evil shall all our works deface;
 O Lord of Being and of Space! show Thou to us Thy bounties fair.
 Creator of security! to Thy Belovèd greetings be!
 These fair words are in sincerity: show Thou to us Thy bounties fair
 Iqbālī sinnèd hath indeed, yet unto him Thy grace concede;
 Eternal, Answerer in need! show Thou to us Thy bounties fair.
Iqbālī.

MUKHAMMES

Alas! nor dew nor smiling rose within this mead is mine;
 Within this market-place nor trade nor coin for need is mine;
 Nor more nor less; nor power nor strength for act or deed is mine;
 Nor might nor eminence; nor balm the cure to speed is mine.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
Being’s the bounty of the Lord; and Life, the gift Divine;
 The Breath, the present of his love; and Speech his Grace’s sign;
 The Body is the pile of God; the Soul, his Breath benign;
 The Powers thereof, his Glory’s trust; the Senses, his design.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
No work, no business of my own within this mart have I;
 All Being is of him alone—no life apart have I;
 No choice of entering this world, or hence of start have I;
 To cry, “I am! I am!” in truth, no power of heart have I.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
The Earth the carpet is of Power; the Sphere, the tent of Might;
 The Stars, both fixed and wandering, are Glory’s lamps of light;
 The World’s the issue of the grace of Mercy’s treasures bright;
 With Forms of beings is the page of Wisdom’s volume dight.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
Being is but a loan to us, and Life in trust we hold:
 In slaves a claim to Power’s pretension arrogant and bold;
 The servant’s part is by submission and obedience told;
 Should He, “My slave,” address to me, ’twere favors manifold.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
I’m poor and empty-handed, but grace free is of the Lord;
 Nonentity’s my attribute: to Be is of the Lord:
 For Being or Non-being’s rise, decree is of the Lord;
 The surging of the Seen and Unseen’s sea is of the Lord.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
Of gifts from table of his Bounty is my daily bread;
 My breath is from the Breath of God’s benignant Mercy fed;
 My portion from the favors of Almighty Power is shed;
 And my provision is from Providence’s kitchen spread.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
I cannot, unallotted, take my share from wet or dry;
 From land or from the ocean, from earth or from the sky;
 The silver or the gold will come, by Providence laid by;
 I cannot grasp aught other than my fortune doth supply.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
Creation’s Pen the lines of billows of events hath traced;
 Th’ illumined scroll of the Two Worlds, Creation’s Pencil graced;
 Their garments upon earth and sky, Creation’s woof hath placed;
 Men’s forms are pictures in Creation’s great Shāh-Nāma traced.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
I cannot make the morning eve, or the dark night the day;
 I cannot turn the air to fire, or dust to water’s spray;
 I cannot bid the Sphere stand still, or mountain region stray;
 I cannot Autumn turn by will of mine to lovely May.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
From out of Nothingness his mighty Power made me appear;
 Whilst in the womb I lay, saw he to all I need for here;
 With kindness concealed and manifest did he me rear;
 With me he drew a curtain o’er Distinction’s beauty dear.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
God’s Revelation is Discernment’s Eye, if’t oped remain;
 The picturings of worlds are all things changing aye amain;
 The showing of the Hidden Treasure is this raging main,
 This work, this business of the Lord, this Majesty made plain.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
Now void, now full, are Possibility’s store-houses vast;
 This glass-lined world’s the mirror where Lights Twain their phases cast;
 The blinded thing—in scattering strange fruits its hours are past;
 Ruined hath this old Vineyard been by autumn’s sullen blast.
 Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
Nābī.

GAZEL

Ne’er a corner for the plaintive bulbul’s nest remaineth now;
 Ne’er a palm-tree ’neath whose kindly shade is rest remaineth now.
 Day and night some balm I’ve sought for, to relieve my wounded heart;
 Ne’er a cure within the heavens’ turquoise chest remaineth now.
 From its source, through every country, searched have I, but all in vain—
 Ne’er a single drop, in mercy’s fountain blest, remaineth now.
 Empty earthen pots are reckoned one with jewels rich and rare;
 Ne’er a scale in value’s mart the worth to test remaineth now.
 ’Neath the earth may now the needy hide themselves, Nābī, away;
 Ne’er a turret on the fort of interest remaineth now.
Nābī.

MUNĀJĀT

O Lord, to Thee is never a beginning, neither end;
 Thy mercy’s ocean, limitless, doth over all extend.
 E’en though the value-weighing hand of Thine unbounded might
 Hath wrought astounding marvels that all numbering transcend,
 Yet, Lord, Thou formedst Adam in the best of symmetry;
 Thou worthy of thy grace to make this folk didst condescend.
 Unfathomed and unsounded lies thy mercy’s ocean vast,
 Which truly hath made earth beneath its surging waves descend:
 O Lord, could any hurt or harm befall that shoreless deep,
 Did thou a single drop therefrom to this thy servant send?
 Since ‘Ārif owns a Master kind in graciousness like thee,
 O Lord, before another’s door were’t right for him to bend?
 O Lord, thus ever doth in joy thy blest device appear—
 Thy greatest glory from the works of vileness thou dost rear!
‘Ārif.

GAZEL

The sun of love for thy fair cheek the heart’s core floods with radiant light;
 The soul’s most secret court is filled with dazzling rays at thy sweet sight.
 With union’s joys though blest one be, or though with pangs of absence torn,
 Are still sad wail and plaintive cry the e’er-true signs of lovelorn plight.
 Then welcome, O thou gentlest breeze, that bear’st to him who dwells
 midst woe,
 As news from yonder absent maid the sweet scent of her garment white.
 Of gilded halls no need in sooth to libertines when wine flows free; Some ruined den beseems them more, like Jemshīd’s hut of woful site.
 The sparks raised by my passioned sighs’ and plainings’ smoke are each one quenched;
 For every tear that rolleth down upon my robe’s a rich pearl bright.
 O ‘Ārif! this poor captive bird hath grown to love th’ entangling snare;
 For curling locks to careworn hearts afford a refuge sure from fright.
’Ārif.

FAREWELL POEM

Ah, my Joy! thou’rt gone, and my sad weeping heart hast borne indeed,
 And my breast by bitter parting’s raging fires all worn indeed;
 Grief for thee in hundred pieces hath my raiment torn indeed;
 Be thy escort on the journey tears I weep, forlorn indeed.
 Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
 Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.
Wheresoe’er thy footsteps wander, be the aid of God thy guide;
 As the pilot to thy wishes be His grace aye at thy side;
 Shadow for thy crown of glory may the huma’s wing provide;
 Ah! may ever-joyous, happy fortune on thy path abide.
 Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
 Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.
O thou Source of joy and quiet unto my poor grieving breast!
 Hence forever I with separation’s fires am sore opprest;
 Thou, Crown of my joy! my Treasure! mercy show to me distrest!
 Now, my Lord, to whom shall Master’s title be by me addrest?
 Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
 Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.
Ever in thy court of service may th’ inconstant heavens be!
 I am fallen, soul and body, to woe’s depths by their decree;
 From a kindly master like thee, merciless, they’ve sundered me;
 And into the dreary vale of exile have they driven thee.
 Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
 Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.
Though I’m far now from the shadow of thy love, O Cypress straight,
 Still my prayers I may offer for thy happiness of state.
 Think at times upon thy servant ‘Ārif sitting desolate;
 Him from near thy skirt of kindness taken hath his darksome fate.
 Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
 Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.
’Ārif.

GAZEL

The realm of patience thou’st laid waste, Helāgū hight art thou, Paynim?
 O mercy! thou’st the world consumed, a blazing light art thou, Paynim?
 A maiden’s grace, is that thy grace, a conquering hero’s voice, thy voice;
 Thou Woe, I know not, maid or youthful lord of might art thou, Paynim?
 What mean those hidden, secret sighs, and tears, and saddest grievings, pray?
 The wailing lover of some wanton gay and bright, art thou, Paynim?
 Why on the polished mirror dost thou thus so frequent cast thine eyes?
 Bewildered and distraught at thine own beauty’s sight art thou, Paynim?
 I’ve heard that poor Nedīm hath been by cruel Paynim captive ta’en—
 That fierce oppressor of the Faith, and foe of right, art thou, Paynim?
Nedīm.

GAZEL

O heart! e’en though thou tell’st thy woes, yon maid will ne’er compassion deign:
 When constancy and troth thou seek’st, dost thou address the barren plain?
 The student of the course of tyranny is yonder wanton wild;
 To look for faith or grace from her who enmity desires is vain.
 That paynim glance doth hold in hand a dagger sharp of point and keen;
 And yet, O babe, my heart, thou dost to thousands sing her praises’ strain.
 In hope that it would yield the soul a breath of favor’s odor sweet,
 How yonder rosebud-mouth effaceth all, thou dost thereto explain.
 O Sabqatī, what wondrous science hath thy magic talent learnt,
 That thou right royally inditest every joyous, glad refrain?
Sabqatī.

GAZEL

A rose-leaf o’er the spikenard fall’n—the red fez lies on her dark hair;
 The perspiration studs her cheeks—the dew-drops which the roses wear.
 Since mirrored in th’ o’erflowing bowl did yon cup-bearer’s chin beam bright,
 My eyes were fixed upon that wine, like bubbles which that wine did bear.
 Behold thou, then, her braided locks, as musk, all dark and sweet perfumed;
 Like ambergris, her tresses shed abroad an odor rich and rare.
 Those who set forth on Mystic Path behind soon leave the earth-born love;
 The Bridge, as home, within this world of ours, no man hath taken e’er.
 Now, O Belīg, that steed, thy reed, doth caracole across this page;
 Thy finger-points, the Hayder bold whom that Duldul doth onward bear.
Belīg.

ON A DANCING-GIRL

When that beauty of a dancing-girl her castanets hath ta’en,
 Should the sun and moon behold her, jealous, each were rent in twain.
 Patience from my soul is banished when beginneth she to dance;
 Leaps with her my heart; my eyesight, faltering, is like to wane.
 When the moon looks down upon her, must it not be seared of heart?
 Yonder moon-fair one her crimson skirt for halo bright hath ta’en.
 In her motions and her pausings what varieties of grace!
 While her lovely frame doth tremble, like to quicksilver, amain!
 Full delighted at her motions, loud as thunder roars the drum;
 Beats its breast the tambourine, its bells commence to mourn and plain.
 When she cometh, like a fairy, begging money from the crowd,
 In her tambourine, had one a hundred lives, he’d cast them fain.
 Deck her out on gala-days, and take her by the hand, Belīg;
 Yonder spark-like Idol hath consumed my soul with fiery pain.
Belīg.

GAZEL

Surge in waves my streaming tears, e’en like a rushing flood, once more,
 From their smallest drop, the sources of a hundred Niles would pour.
 Overwhelm the raging billows of my tears the heart’s frail bark,
 Though the mem’ry of her cheek, like to the beacon, radiance throw.
 What my pen writes down appeareth, in the eyes of brutish men,
 Like the needle to the blinded, of discerning clear the foe.
 One the beggar’s bowl would be with the tiara of the King,
 Were it but reversed, for then like to the royal crown ’twould show.
 Though it be coarse as a rush-mat, is that soul the seat of grace,
 Which doth, like the wattle basket, freely bread to guests bestow,
 “Yonder hair-waist I encircled,” did the braggart rival say;
 But her waist exists not—hair-like slight his boasting’s truth doth show.
 O thou vain one! see, what anguish to the head of Nimrod brought
 Was by one gnat’s sting, which like to trunk of elephant did grow.
 Sāmī, it is thy intention to compare to heaven’s bowers
 These thy distichs eight, with shining flowers of rhetoric that glow.
Sāmī.

FRAGMENT

Think not that with Kevser’s praises hearts become of joy full;
 Preacher, rather doth the tale of mouth and kiss the soul rule.
 Thinking of her rubies red, whene’er I drink tobacco,
 The nargila’s a flask of wine, the pipe-bowl is a sumbul.
 Know how holy is her land: who dwelleth in Edirna,
 Ere he to the Ka’ba bends, doth turn him to Istambul.
Sāmī.

GAZEL

Near thy rubies, ne’er I bow my head to wine of rosy hue;
 ’Neath the shadow of the Magian priest, I ne’er the glass eschew.
 Now it makes me exile’s prisoner, now the comrade close of pain—
 What to do I know not, what with this sad fate of mine to do!
 E’en the Home of Peace it turneth to the cot of woe for me,
 Through the longing for thy dusky mole, when Shām I journey through.
 Since ’tis needful midst the people that I still reside and move,
 If the days ne’er suit me, I shall suit myself the days unto.
 Never unto Nev-res, never, will thy sweet words bitter seem;
 Speak thou, then, for I’m contented all reproach to hearken to.
Nev-res.

GAZEL

If the fair one would but come in her lover’s home to stay,
 Were his eyes not filled with light by her face as bright as day?
 Or would yonder Moon but dart that her glance as dagger keen,
 And my rival’s bosom pierce that, like flute, he breathe dismay!
 Fly not this poor one, Moon-face, who hath drunken deep of woe;
 Order not that I be burned in the fire of love, I pray.
 If the Grace of God the Lord to a slave should aider be,
 Though he lack a single groat he’ll the Sphere as monarch sway.
 Rush the tear drops from my eyes through their longing for thy face;
 By its power thy sun-like face doth the dew-drops steal away.
 By the Mystic Pathway’s side, if thou’rt wise, a hostel build,
 For the travellers of Love, as a caravanserai.
 Proud and noble mistress mine, with those eyebrows and those eyes,
 Where a need of bow and shaft this thy lover fond to slay?
 Thou hast loosed thy tresses dark, o’er thy day-face spread a veil—
 Or in House of Scorpio is the Moon eclipsèd, say?
 Should my loved one pierce my breast, right contented sooth were I;
 Only worthy of her grace let that Moon-face me survey.
 Write, O pen, that I desire, like the salamander, fire;
 Thus declare, should she it will, yonder lovely Queen Humāy.
 Is it then the shining moon that the world doth silver o’er,
 Or the radiance of thy face that doth earth in light array?
 Did the caviller dispute and thy sun-bright face decry,
 Would thy lover, like the mote, to that fool the truth convey.
 Lovers surely for their loves do their talents aye employ;
 Is it thine thy tribute now to present, Shāhīn Girāy?
Shāhīn Girāy.

THE SONG OF LOVE’S NURSE

O moon! sleep, sleep thou, for this night
 The cry “O Lord!” upon thine ear shall smite;
 Though formed, its purpose is yet hid from sight,
 It shall be seen—the stars’ potential might.
 Thou’lt be the roast upon the spit of pain!
O Rosebud! sleep thou, then, this little while;
 The Sphere’s design against thee sooth is vile,
 For pitiless is it and strong in guile;
 Ah! never trust it, even though it smile.
 Thou’lt have, I fear me, reason oft to plain!
O Love’s Narcissus! sleep the sleep of peace!
 Fall at the skirt of Fate and beg surcease;
 Thy soul’s eye ope—and, lo! thy fears increase!
 Guard thee against the end of woe, nor cease.
 Thou’lt be as plaything by Misfortune ta’en!
Come, in the cradle of repose thee rest
 A few short nights, by sorrow undistrest;
 Bid care and all it brings leave thee unprest;
 In place of milk, blood shall be thy bequest.
 Thou’lt need the goblet of despite to drain!
O Jasmine-breast! within the cradle lie;
 Thus will not long remain the rolling Sky:
 The stars do not aye in one circle hie;
 See what they’ll do to thee, Love, by and by.
 Thou’lt be the mill on sorrow’s torrent’s train!
From slumber do not thou thine eyelids keep,
 If aid can reach thee, it will come through sleep;
 The Sphere will give a draught of poison deep,
 Then will thy work, like Gālib’s, be to weep.
 Thou’lt be the rebec at the feast of pain!
Gālib.

LOVE’S SONG

Sweet were those moments when the heart was gay,
 And the soul’s realm, the court of joy’s array;
 Thoughts of those times now o’er my spirit stray,
 For love of God! O Heavens! mercy! pray!
 The pride of both the day and night was I.
A garden fair was that my soul’s repose;
 Like those in Eden’s bower, its every rose;
 But parting comes and all of that o’erthrows,
 Now in my heart naught but its mem’ry glows.
 With honor’s wine then drunken quite was I.
Then to the Sphere I never uttered prayer;
 Feast, music, and delight—all mine—were there;
 Moved ever by my side my Cypress fair;
 Unopened then my secret and despair.
 The envy of the springtide bright was I.
Now before grief and woe I’m fallen prone;
 Like nightingale in early spring, I moan.
 Through fire I’ve past and to the shore have flown,
 And, like the shattered glass, to earth am thrown.
 Sipping the wine, the fair’s despite, was I.
Ah me! alas! those happy hours are past;
 The spring is past; the rose, the flowers, are past;
 The smiles of her who graced the bowers are past;
 The thirsty soul remains, the showers are past.
 Drinking with her the wine so bright was I.
I with my loved one feast and banquet made,
 Wild as the whirlpool then I romped and played;
 At wine-feasts I myself in light arrayed,
 And with my songs the nightingales dismayed.
 Like Gālib, blest with all delight was I.
Gālib.

GAZEL

The mem’ry of his glance hid in my breast deep laid I found;
 It seemed as though a fawn within the lion’s glade I found.
 O heart! a parallel unto those eyebrows and that glance,
 In Rustem’s deadly bow and Qahramān’s bright blade I found.
 When, through my grieving at thine absence, dead of woe was I,
 That mem’ry of thy rubies’ kiss new life conveyed I found.
 My heart’s wound, through the beauty of the spring of love for thee,
 By turns, rose, tulip, Judas-tree of crimson shade, I found.
 Is’t strange, O Fitnet, if my soul around do scatter gems?
 Within the ink-horn’s vault a hidden treasure laid I found.
Fitnet Khānim.

MUSEDDES

The fresh spring clouds across all earth their glistening pearls profuse now sow;
 The flowers, too, all appearing, forth the radiance of their beauty show.
 Of mirth and joy ’tis now the time, the hour to wander to and fro;
 The palm-tree o’er the fair ones’ picnic gay its grateful shade doth throw.
 O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth glow;
 ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.
Behold the roses, how they shine, e’en like the cheeks of maids most fair;
 The fresh-sprung hyacinth shows like to beauties’ dark, sweet, musky hair.
 The loved one’s form behold, like cypress which the streamlet’s bank doth bear;
 In sooth, each side for soul and heart doth some delightful joy prepare.
 O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth glow;
 ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.
The parterre’s flowers have all bloomed forth, the roses, sweetly smiling, shine;
 On every side lorn nightingales, in plaintive notes discoursing, pine;
 How fair, carnation and wallflower the borders of the garden line!
 The long-haired hyacinth and jasmine both around the cyprèss twine.
 O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth glow;
 ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.
Arise, my Prince! the garden’s court hath wondrous joys in fair array;
 Oh, hark, there midst the rose’s boughs, the wailing nightingale’s fond lay
 Thy bright cheek show the new-oped rose and make it blush with shamed dismay;
 With graceful air come then, thy cypress mien before the mead display.
 O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth glow;
 ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.
Enow! thy lovers pain no more, of faithful plight the days are now;
 On streamlet’s banks, of mirth and joy and gay delight the days are now;
 In hand then take the heart’s dear joy, the goblet bright, its days are now;
 O Fitnet, come, and these thy verses sweet recite, their days are now.
 O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth glow;
 ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.
Fitnet Khānim.

GAZEL

Ah! through grief for thee mine eyes blood, every night and day, weep;
 Those who know my bitter sorrow’s secret pang for aye weep.
 When they see me blood-besmeared by my bosom’s red wound,
 Pitying my doleful plight, the garden’s flowerets gay weep.
 When he viewed my bleeding heart, ruth had yon physician;
 Quoth he: “Doth the cure for thee, Sick of love-dismay, weep.”
 Yet to me doth yonder Torment of the Soul no grace show;
 For my plight do all my friends, who me thus sick survey, weep.
 E’en as gazeth on thy cheek, amidst his woes, Ilhāmī,
 Though his face may smiling be, his heart doth blood alway weep.
Ilhāmī.

GAZEL

Midst the orchard of the world though empire may appear delight,
 Still, if thou wouldst view it closely, empire is but ceaseless fight.
 Vain let no one be who ruleth kingdoms in these woful days;
 If in justice lie thy pleasure—then is empire truly right.
 Reacheth e’en one lover union in the space of thousand years?
 Let whoever sees it envy—empire is of faithless plight.
 Think, O heart, alas! the revolutions of the rolling Sphere!
 If at times ’tis joy, far oftener empire bringeth dire affright.
 Do not envy, do not covet, then, the Kingship of the world;
 Oh! take heed, Ilhāmī, empire bides not, swift indeed its flight.
Ilhāmī.

GAZEL

The trees and flowers their turbans roll of black and white and red;
 The garden fastens on its stole of black and white and red.
 With sable eve and ermine dawn and fez of sunset bright,
 The sky doth all its pomp unroll of black and white and red.
 The pupils of my eyes are points upon the gleaming page,
 With tears of blood I’ve writ a scroll of black and white and red.
 The youthful Magian’s locks and breast were shadowed in the wine;
 It seemed as though they filled the bowl with black and white and red.
 Is’t ambergris, or is it pearl, or coral, Fāzil, say,
 This poesy thy reed doth troll, of black and white and red?
Fāzil Beg.

DESCRIPTION OF CIRCASSIAN WOMEN