I swear, by the two bows that send forth
Irresistible arrows from thine eyes,
That my days have lost their lustre:
They are dark as the jet of thy waving ringlets;
And the sweetness of thy lips far exceeds,
In the opinion of Khacan, all that
The richest sugar-cane has ever yielded.


IV.

The humid clouds of spring float over the enamelled meads,
And, like my eyes, dissolve in tears.
My fancy seeks thee in all places; and the beauties
Of Nature retrace, at every moment,
Thy enchanting image. But thou, O cruel fair one!
Thou endeavourest to efface from thy memory
The recollection of my ardent love--my tender constancy.

Thy charms eclipse the growing tulip--
Thy graceful stature puts to shame the lofty cyprus.
Let every nymph, although equal in beauty to Shireen,[10]
Pay homage to thy superiority; and let all men
Become like Ferhad[11] of the mountain,
Distracted on beholding thy loveliness.

How could the star of day have shone amidst the heavens,
If the moon of thy countenance had not concealed
Its splendour beneath the cloud of a veil?
Oh! banish me not from thy sight;