| To the new blown rose the bulbul Spake this word at break of day |
|
|
| To me the East wind yesternight The tidings rare hath brought |
|
|
| Friendship in no one I see: To friends of old date what hath happened? |
|
|
| Cypress of lofty stature, goodly of gait |
|
|
| Cupbearer, come! Lo, of desire for thy service I die |
|
|
| Gone my heart and faith are and the charmer, Her despite 'gainst me to show, ariseth |
|
|
| The Soul to life inclining, Without the Loved One's grace, hath not |
|
|
| Chance of the mouth of the Friend E'er a sign giveth me not |
|
|
| Though my wish of thy lip's honey Not vouchsafed have They to me yet |
|
|
| Though her sword slay me, ne'er my hand shall break it |
|
|