A flame that Picture’s sabre in its deadliness of blow; Like sparks upon its face the marks of damaskeening glow. Is’t strange that by thy side the bird, my heart, should rest secure? Thy sabre damaskeened to it doth grain and water show! The watered scimitar within thy grasp an ocean is, In which the lines and marks are scattered pearls unique, I trow. Thy sword a sky, its stars the marks of damaskeening shine, My heart’s blood there upon its face like break of dawn doth glow. What though I call that Picture’s brand a branch of Judas-tree? For there the damask marks and grains like flowers and blossoms blow. Figānī’s verse on yonder King of Beauty’s empire’s sword Doth like unto a running stream of limpid water flow. _Figānī_. ON AUTUMN O sad heart, come, distraction’s hour is now high, The air’s cool, ’midst the fields 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 hinna, 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. _Lāmi’ī_. ON SPRING