Through grief for thee, bereft of rest and tearful e’en as I, Sore weeping let the cloud of spring go wand’ring through the sky! And let the wailing of the birds of dawn the whole world fill! Be roses torn! and let the nightingale distressful cry! Their hyacinths as weeds of woe displaying, let them weep, Down o’er their skirts their flowing tears let pour--the mountains high! The odor of thy kindliness recalling, tulip-like, Within the Tātār musk-deer’s heart let fire of anguish lie! Through yearning for thee let the rose its ear lay on the path, And, narcisse-like, till the last day the watchman’s calling ply! Although the pearl-diffusing eye to oceans turned the world, Ne’er into being should there come a pearl with thee to vie! O heart! this hour ’tis thou that sympathizer art with me; Come, let us like the flute bewail, and moan, and plaintive sigh! The notes of mourning and of dole aloud let us rehearse; And let all those who grieve be moved by this our sevenfold verse. Will earth’s King ne’er awake from sleep?--broke hath the dawn of day: Will ne’er he move forth from his tent, adorned as heaven’s display? Long have our eyes dwelt on the road, and yet no news hath come From yonder land, the threshold of his majesty’s array: The color of his cheek hath paled, dry-lipped he lieth there, E’en like that rose which from the vase of flowers hath fall’n away. Goes now the Khusrev of the skies behind the cloudy veil, For shame, remembering thy love and kindness, one would say. My prayer is ever, “May the babes, his tears, go ’neath the sod, Or old or young be he who weeps not thee in sad dismay.” With flame of parting from thee let the sun burn and consume; And o’er the wastes through grief let darkness of the clouds hold sway. Thy talents and thy feats let it recall and weep in blood, Yea, let thy sabre from its sheath plunge in the darksome clay. Its collar, through its grief and anguish, let the reed-pen tear! And let the earth its vestment rend through sorrow and despair!