Classic Poem

The minstrel now attunes his lute afresh,
New tales he tells us with each chord he strikes.
Let the Monk stay in his cloister, I will wander through the garden;
See the flowers of Spring are calling loud to me.
The beggar's mind is full of thought to stay his hunger.
On the Monarch weigh the troubles of his State.
What will be her kindness when she once comes to love me,
Now that in her coyness such gentleness is hers?
When with her I am Khush-hal, yet am I saddened
As one who is grateful to yet injured by another.
If this be no sign of my good fortune, what else is it?
That to my rivals she shows such dislike.
If delight in gazing on the fair ones be a fault,
Then is Khush-hal a criminal throughout his life.