Turkish Literature; Comprising Fables, Belles-lettres, and Sacred Traditions
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Turkish Literature; Comprising Fables, Belles-lettres, and Sacred Traditions
Turkey -- Literary collections; Turkish literature -- Translations into English
And must the sun with lessened radiance beam,
From shining in the beggar’s lowly hut?
Does loftiness its dignity forego
When Solomon converses with a fool?
The watery stream that vivifies the world
Is ever in its current downward turned.
Think pitifully on his valiant life,
Whose spirit ever was to goodness given.
Now is the poor down stricken to the earth,
Oh, let him find his rescuer in thee!”
The Rose replied, when she had heard his speech,
“Go to this beggar-man, this tempest tost
And tell him, since he loves so ardently,
And swears himself so ardently my slave,
My grace he must a little longer wait
And patient in his constancy abide.
Suffer he must till healing be in train,
For love to any man is smart enough.
Love is by absence ofttimes perfected;
And ofttimes by fruition brought to naught.
He who would end the sufferance of love
Must first the rule of selfishness forswear.
The lover has no will to please himself;
His will he yields in all to the beloved.
And if the well-beloved for absence wish,
How can he in fruition’s flame be warmed?
And if she wishes to remain far off,
How is this possible if he be near?
When he who loves puts pleasure before all,
His beauteous flame desires him to depart.
Can anyone whose love is pure and high
For any time abide at peace in it
While he is thinking only of himself
And hurts his well-beloved through selfishness,
So that if he but graze her sandal’s tip
She in hot anger turns away from him?
For wounds are but the ornaments of love,
And all the rest is passion dissolute.”
Hearing these words, the morning wind in haste
Departed to the Nightingale, who mourned.
For when he heard the message of the Rose
His self-control and understanding fled.
Straight he began to cry aloud for grief,
And beat the bushes of the rose garden.
Sad song and sighing in his bosom raged,
As passion in the glades of Gulistan.
The day and night were all the same to him,
For in love’s frenzy lay he night and day.
XXIX
DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING AND OF THE COLLOQUY OF THE LOVELY ROSE WITH
HER NOBLES AND CHIEF MEN
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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