| Sawest thou, o heart, the havoc That Love's pain hath wrought? |
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| Come the glad news is that the days Of woe will not abide for ever |
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| Who sweetheart kind and fair and mind Unracked of care and pain doth hold |
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| Out of all this world's rose-garden Us a rose-cheeked fair sufficeth |
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| From the Friend my dole is, My delight no less |
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| The Head of our purpose cleaves To the Loved One's threshold sill |
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| My heart, for desire of the visage so fair Of Ferrukh |
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| In the Friend's high places every Heart's initiate abideth |
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| Thy fair form on goodly fashion, O Beloved mine, They've stablished |
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| All the bulbul's thought his lover How the rose may be is |
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