The sun of love for thy fair cheek the heart’s core floods with radiant light; The soul’s most secret court is filled with dazzling rays at thy sweet sight. With union’s joys though blest one be, or though with pangs of absence torn, Are still sad wail and plaintive cry the e’er-true signs of lovelorn plight. Then welcome, O thou gentlest breeze, that bear’st to him who dwells midst woe, As news from yonder absent maid the sweet scent of her garment white. Of gilded halls no need in sooth to libertines when wine flows free; Some ruined den beseems them more, like Jemshīd’s hut of woful site. The sparks raised by my passioned sighs’ and plainings’ smoke are each one quenched; For every tear that rolleth down upon my robe’s a rich pearl bright. O ‘Ārif! this poor captive bird hath grown to love th’ entangling snare; For curling locks to careworn hearts afford a refuge sure from fright. _’Ārif._ FAREWELL POEM Ah, my Joy! thou’rt gone, and my sad weeping heart hast borne indeed, And my breast by bitter parting’s raging fires all worn indeed; Grief for thee in hundred pieces hath my raiment torn indeed; Be thy escort on the journey tears I weep, forlorn indeed. Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed; Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed. Wheresoe’er thy footsteps wander, be the aid of God thy guide; As the pilot to thy wishes be His grace aye at thy side; Shadow for thy crown of glory may the _huma’s_ wing provide; Ah! may ever-joyous, happy fortune on thy path abide. Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed; Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed. O thou Source of joy and quiet unto my poor grieving breast! Hence forever I with separation’s fires am sore opprest; Thou, Crown of my joy! my Treasure! mercy show to me distrest! Now, my Lord, to whom shall Master’s title be by me addrest? Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed; Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed. Ever in thy court of service may th’ inconstant heavens be! I am fallen, soul and body, to woe’s depths by their decree; From a kindly master like thee, merciless, they’ve sundered me; And into the dreary vale of exile have they driven thee. Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed; Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.