There is the soft green forest,
There are the sweet lines of the mountains
Carved with snow, red in the sunlight.

I see the slow march of the clouds,
I hear the crows jeering, and I come back

To sit and look at the paper leaf,
Which is still white
Under my brush.

_From the Chinese of Chang-Chi (770-850)._




CONTENTS


INTRODUCTION


AFGHANISTAN (PUS'HTO)

The Princess of Qulzum
Come, my Beloved!
Ballade of Muhammad Khan
Ghazal of Tavakkul
Ghazal of Sayyid Kamal