All sick the heart with love for her, sad at the feast of woe; Bent form, the harp; low wail, the flute; heart’s blood for wine doth flow. Prone lies the frame her path’s dust ’neath, in union’s stream the eye, In air the mind, the soul ’midst separation’s fiery glow. Oh, ever shall it be my lot, zone-like, thy waist to clasp! ’Twixt us, O love, the dagger blade of severance doth show! Thou art the Queen of earth, thy cheeks are Towers of might, this day, Before thy Horse, like Pawns, the Kings of grace and beauty go. Him hinder not, beside thee let him creep, O Shade-like stay! Bāqī, thy servant, O my Queen, before thee lieth low. _Bāqī._ ON AUTUMN Lo, ne’er a trace or sign of springtide’s beauty doth remain; Fall’n ’midst the garden lie the leaves, now all their glory vain. Bleak stand the orchard trees, all clad in tattered dervish rags; Dark Autumn’s blast hath torn away the hands from off the plane. From each hill-side they come and cast their gold low at the feet Of garden trees, as hoped the streams from these some boon to gain. Stay not within the parterre, let it tremble with its shame: Bare every shrub, this day doth naught or leaf or fruit retain. Bāqī, within the garden lies full many a fallen leaf; Low lying there, it seems they ’gainst the winds of Fate complain. _Bāqī._ GAZEL Tulip-cheeked ones over rosy field and plain stray all around; Mead and garden cross they, looking wistful each way, all around. These the lovers true of radiant faces, aye, but who the fair? Lissom Cypress, thou it is whom eager seek they all around. Band on band Woe’s legions camped before the City of the Heart, There, together leagued, sat Sorrow, Pain, Strife, Dismay, all around. From my weeping flows the river of my tears on every side, Like an ocean ’tis again, a sea that casts spray all around. Forth through all the Seven Climates have the words of Bāqī gone; This refulgent verse recited shall be alway, all around. _Bāqī._ GAZEL From thine own beauty’s radiant sun doth light flow; How lustrously doth now the crystal glass show! Thy friend’s the beaker, and the cup’s thy comrade; Like to the dregs why dost thou me aside throw? Hearts longing for thy beauty can resist not; Hold, none can bear the dazzling vision’s bright glow! United now the lover, and now parted; This world is sometimes pleasure and sometimes woe. Bound in the spell of thy locks’ chain is Bāqī, Mad he, my Liege, and to the mad they grace show. _Bāqī._ GAZEL