That I’m fall’n her conquered slave, yon maiden bright feigns not to know; Thus pretending, she who doth the soul despite feigns not to know. Though I fail naught in her service, she doth me as alien treat; Know not I why yonder Darling, earth’s Delight, feigns not to know. If I dare to speak my eager longing those her lips to kiss, Friendship she disclaims, in sooth with cruel slight feigns not to know. That she whets her glance’s arrow and therewith doth pierce the heart, E’en her bow-like eyebrow, yonder Ban of might feigns not to know. Well the loved one knows the Sphere doth keep no faithful troth; but, ah! How she copies it, that Heart-ensnarer bright feigns not to know. There is ne’er a refuge, ‘Adlī, from the grief of rivals’ taunts; I my love conceal not, still yon maiden slight feigns not to know. _’Adlī._ ON THE DEATH OF ‘ANDELĪB KHĀNIM ‘Andelīb, th’ adopted sister, from this transient world hath flown, Yonder midst the flowers of Eden while still in her youth to stray. No physician, neither charmer, on the earth her pain could ease; So that youthful beauty bided not to smile on earth’s mead gay. With her two-and-twenty summers, cypress-like was she, ah me! But the sullen blast of autumn smote her life’s bright, lovely May. For its tyranny and rancor might have blushed the vile, hard Sphere, As the sister of earth’s Monarch pined in grief without allay. Though her kind friend never parted from her eye’s sweet, gentle beam, Still did she to God her soul yield, and the call, Return, obey. Down the wayward Sphere hath stricken that bright Jewel to the earth; What avail though men and angels tears of blood shed in dismay? Length of days to that great Sultan grant may He, the God of Truth! And yon fair Pearl’s tomb make rival His own Eden’s bright display! With the dotted letters, Leylā, thou the year tell’st of her death-- Calm among delightsome bowers may ‘Andelīb her nest array! _Leylā Khānim._ TAKHMĪS ’Tis yonder Darling of my soul that wildering my sense o’er-throws; My waving Cypress ’tis that freshness to the garden doth disclose; The bird, my heart, my gardener is in Love’s fair parterre of the rose: Mine eyes’ field with thy cheek’s reflection as my flowery orchard shows; For long my heart the picture of thy palm-like figure doth enclose. The world seems in my eyes as prison that doth my dear love control; Through love for thee my heart acquireth many a scar, and that’s the whole; From hour to hour thine absence makes my tears like rushing waters roll: The heart bows down through grief for thee, and constant weeps the life, the soul; The fountain of this vineyard is the stream that from my weeping flows.