Who hath not lingering cast
Long looks behind, and in his eager breast
Held many a secret yearning unfulfilled?

Ah, Mushafi, to thee
Silence and thought in solitude are best,
For thou hast known
That laurel crowns are idle vanity;
There is no worldly rank thou covetest,
And what to thee is Suleiman's high throne?

MUSHAFI.




XXXIV.


Where has my childhood gone, where are its placid years?
For cruel youth hath brought passion and bitter tears.

To the Creator now I from the dust complain--
Beauty, the thing he made, brings with it only pain.

Long I desired and dreamed, waiting with eager breath,
But ere she came to me, Fate sent the sleep of Death.

To God as servitor I my devotion gave,
Now Love hath taken me, bound me to be his slave.