Truth this: a lasting home hath yielded ne'er earth's spreading plain; Scarce e'en an inn where may the caravan for rest remain. Though every leaf of every tree is verily a book, For those who understanding lack doth earth no leaf contain. E'en though the Loved One be from thee as far as East from West, "Bagdad to lovers is not far," O heart, then strive and strain. One moment opened were her ebriate, strife-causing eyne, By us as scimitars, not merely daggers, were they ta'en. Yearneth Nejati for the court of thy fair Paradise, Though this a wish which he while here on earth can ne'er attain. RUBA'IS O Handkerchief! I send thee—off to yonder maid of grace; Around thee I my eyelashes will make the fringe of lace; I will the black point of my eye ruh up to paint therewith; To yon coquettish beauty go—go look thou in her face. O Handkerchief! the loved one's hand take, kiss her lip so sweet, Her chin, which mocks at apple and at orange, kissing greet; If sudden any dust should light upon her blessed heart, Fall down before her, kiss her sandal's sole, beneath her feet. A sample of my tears of blood thou, Handkerchief, wilt show, Through these within a moment would a thousand crimson grow; Thou'lt be in company with her, while I am sad with grief; To me no longer life may be, if things continue so. POEMS OF LAMI'I ON AUTUMN O sad heart, come, distraction's hour is now high, The air's cool, 'midst the elds to sit the time nigh. The Sun hath to the Balance, Joseph-like, past, The year's Zuleykha hath her gold hoard wide cast. By winds bronzed, like the Sun, the quince's face glows; Its Pleiads-clusters, hanging forth, the vine shows. In saffron flow'rets have the meads themselves dight; The trees, all scorched, to gold have turned, and shine bright. The gilded leaves in showers falling to earth gleam; With goldfish filled doth glisten brightly each stream. Ablaze each tree, and blent are all in one glare, And therefore charged with glistening fire the still air. Amidst the yellow foliage perched the black crows— As tulip, saffron-hued, that spotted cup shows. A yellow-plumaged bird now every tree stands, Which shakes itself and feathers sheds on all hands. Each vine-leaf paints its face, bride-like, with gold ink; The brook doth silver anklets round the vine link. The plane-tree hath its hands, with henna, red-dyed, And stands there of the parterre's court the fair bride. The erst green tree now like the starry sky shows, And hurling meteors at the fiend, Earth, stones throws. ON SPRING