Lā’l-Para as her name doth one of these own, A girl whose heart is hard as is the flint-stone. Her mouth in very truth’s a ruby bright red, Her teeth are pearls, so too the words by her said. Strange were it, if my heart be by her love slaved? For sooth her rubies bear the “coral-prayer” graved. _‘Azīzī._ ĀQ-‘ĀLEM (WHITE UNIVERSE) And Aq-‘Alem they one of yonder maids call, For her the moon of heaven acteth jackal. Is’t strange if through her loveliness she famed be? A white Rose on the earth is yonder Hūrī. He who with that bright Moon as friend goes, A universe enjoys more fair than earth shows. _’Azīzī._ MUSEDDES Be mine for dress, the piercing thorn! be mine for couch, the hard, hard stone! Be mine for home, grief’s cot! be mine for bread, woe’s tears! for work, pain’s moan! Be all my bleeding frame with wounds of cruel foeman’s hatred sown! Be these rejoiced in heart and gay who make my grieving soul to groan! Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown! Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast prone!” Unfaithfulness is aye the rule which guides the Sphere that loves to pain, The inborn nature of the Skies is but to manifest disdain; Within the breasts of those who pleasure seek there lurks some yearning vain; O heart, blest is the practice of the thought enshrined in this refrain: Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown! Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast prone!” When time is past, rejoiced shall swell the hearts of all my comrades dear; And through their cruelty--my choice--my foes shall mourn in sorrow drear. Let all those learn this verse of me who hap to come my pathway near, And let them from the tongues of that green sward which decks my grave this hear: Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown! Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast prone!” Within this hostel of the world my portion is the tray of dole; My eye, the birthplace of the flame, refuseth health’s most pleasant stole; Fatigue, the rest of my sad heart; anguish, the present to my soul; Ne’er through Eternity to gain my longing is my longing’s goal. Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown! Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast prone!”