The mem’ry of his glance hid in my breast deep laid I found; It seemed as though a fawn within the lion’s glade I found. O heart! a parallel unto those eyebrows and that glance, In Rustem’s deadly bow and Qahramān’s bright blade I found. When, through my grieving at thine absence, dead of woe was I, That mem’ry of thy rubies’ kiss new life conveyed I found. My heart’s wound, through the beauty of the spring of love for thee, By turns, rose, tulip, Judas-tree of crimson shade, I found. Is’t strange, O Fitnet, if my soul around do scatter gems? Within the ink-horn’s vault a hidden treasure laid I found. _Fitnet Khānim._ MUSEDDES The fresh spring clouds across all earth their glistening pearls profuse now sow; The flowers, too, all appearing, forth the radiance of their beauty show. Of mirth and joy ’tis now the time, the hour to wander to and fro; The palm-tree o’er the fair ones’ picnic gay its grateful shade doth throw. O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth glow; ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow. Behold the roses, how they shine, e’en like the cheeks of maids most fair; The fresh-sprung hyacinth shows like to beauties’ dark, sweet, musky hair. The loved one’s form behold, like cypress which the streamlet’s bank doth bear; In sooth, each side for soul and heart doth some delightful joy prepare. O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth glow; ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow. The parterre’s flowers have all bloomed forth, the roses, sweetly smiling, shine; On every side lorn nightingales, in plaintive notes discoursing, pine; How fair, carnation and wallflower the borders of the garden line! The long-haired hyacinth and jasmine both around the cyprèss twine. O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth glow; ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow. Arise, my Prince! the garden’s court hath wondrous joys in fair array; Oh, hark, there midst the rose’s boughs, the wailing nightingale’s fond lay Thy bright cheek show the new-oped rose and make it blush with shamed dismay; With graceful air come then, thy cypress mien before the mead display. O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth glow; ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.