To seek the garden, wandering apart;
But wait--one day within thy very heart
It shall arise, in bud and bloom and leaf.

MIR SOZ.




Some friend of mine, may be,
After my lonely death may let her see
How foolish were her idle doubts of me;
But no! how can I think the rolling Wheel of Fate
Should turn to favour one so long unfortunate?

MIR TAQI.




I, like a poor fakir,
Wander from door to door,
Bearing my load of pain;
But thou, O Ever-Dear,
Thou comest never more
Unto my door again.

SAUDA.