Will earth's King ne'er awake from sleep?—broke hath the dawn of day: Will ne'er he move forth from his tent, adorned as heaven's display? Long have our eyes dwelt on the road, and yet no news hath come From yonder land, the threshold of his majesty's array: The color of his cheek hath paled, dry-lipped he lieth there, E'en like that rose which from the vase of flowers hath fall'n away. Goes now the Khusrev of the skies behind the cloudy veil, For shame, remembering thy love and kindness, one would say. My prayer is ever, "May the babes, his tears, go 'neath the sod, Or old or young be he who weeps not thee in sad dismay." With flame of parting from thee let the sun burn and consume; And o'er the wastes through grief let darkness of the clouds hold sway. Thy talents and thy feats let it recall and weep in blood, Yea, let thy saber from its sheath plunge in the darksome clay. Its collar, through its grief and anguish, let the reed-pen tear! And let the earth its vestment rend through sorrow and despair! Thy saber made the foe the anguish dire of wounds to drain; Their tongues are silenced, none who dares to gainsay doth remain. The youthful cypress, head-exalted, looked upon thy lance, And ne'er its lissom twigs their haughty airs displayed again. Where'er thy stately charger placed his hoof, from far and near Flocked nobles, all upon thy path their lives to offer fain. In desert of mortality the bird, desire, rests ne'er; Thy sword in cause of God did lives as sacrifice ordain. As sweeps a scimitar, across earth's face on every side, Of iron-girded heroes of the world thou threw'st a chain. Thou took'st a thousand idol temples, turnèdst all to mosques; Where jangled bells thou mad'st be sung the Call to Prayers' strain. At length is struck the signal drum, and thou hast journeyed hence; Lo! thy first resting-place is Eden's flowery, verdant plain. Praise is to God! for he in the Two Worlds hath blessed thee, And caused thy glorious name, Hero and Martyr both to be.