Mine eyes lost their honour by shedding these torrents of tears
Like fast-falling rain.

O Wind of Disaster, destroy not the home of my heart
With the blasts of thine ire,
For there I have kindled to burn in a chamber apart
My Lamp of Desire.

AMIR.




III.


Had I control o'er her, the dear Tormentor,
Then might I rest;
I cannot govern her, nor can I master
The heart within my breast.

I cast myself upon the ground in anguish
Wounded and sore,
Yet longed to have two hearts that she might pierce them,
That I might suffer more.

Utterly from her heart hath she erased me,
No marks remain,
So there shall be no grave from which my ashes
May greet her steps again.