Years trodden under foot have I lain on that path of thine; Thy musky locks are noose-like cast, around my feet to twine. O Princess mine! boast not thyself through loveliness of face, For that, alas, is but a sun which must full soon decline! The loved one’s stature tall, her form as fair as juniper, Bright ’midst the rosy bowers of grace a slender tree doth shine. Her figure, fair-proportioned as my poesy sublime, Her slender waist is like its subtle thought--hard to divine. Then yearn not, Bāqī, for the load of love’s misfortune dire; For that to bear mayhap thy soul no power doth enshrine. _Bāqī._ GAZEL With her graceful-moving form, a Cypress jasmine-faced is she? Or in Eden’s bower a branch upon the Lote or Tūba-tree? That thy blood-stained shaft which rankles in my wounded breast, my love, In the rosebud hid a lovely rose-leaf, sweetheart, can it be? To the dead of pain of anguish doth its draught fresh life impart; O cup-bearer, is the red wine Jesu’s breath? tell, tell to me! Are they teeth those in thy mouth, or on the rosebud drops of dew? Are they sparkling stars, or are they gleaming pearls, that there I see? Through the many woes thou wreakest upon Bāqī, sick of heart, Is’t thy will to slay him, or is it but sweet disdain in thee? _Bāqī._ GAZEL Before thy form, the box-tree’s lissom figure dwarfed would show; Those locks of thine the pride of ambergris would overthrow. Who, seeing thy cheek’s glow, recalls the ruby is deceived; He who hath drunken deep of wine inebriate doth grow. Should she move forth with figure like the juniper in grace, The garden’s cypress to the loved one’s form must bend right low. Beware, give not the mirror bright to yonder paynim maid, Lest she idolater become, when there her face doth show. Bāqī, doth he not drink the wine of obligation’s grape, Who drunken with A-lestu’s cup’s o’erwhelming draught doth go? _Bāqī._ GAZEL Thy cheek, like limpid water, clear doth gleam; Thy pouting mouth a bubble round doth seem. The radiance of thy cheek’s sun on the heart Like moonlight on the water’s face doth beam. The heart’s page, through the tracings of thy down, A volume all illumined one would deem. That fair Moon’s sunny love the earth have burned, It warm as rays of summer sun doth stream. At woful sorrow’s feast my blood-shot eyes, Two beakers of red wine would one esteem. Bāqī, her mole dark-hued like ambergris, A fragrant musk-pod all the world would deem. _Bāqī._ GAZEL