FROM THE WINTER QASĪDA
Locust-like down from the sky the snowflakes wing their way;
From the green-plumaged bird, Delight, O heart! hope not for lay.
Like drunken camels, spatter now the clouds earth’s winding sheet;
Laded the caravan of mirth and glee, and passed away.
With lighted lamps in daytime seek the people for the sun;
Yet scarce, with trouble, a dim, fitful spark discover they.
. . . . . . . . . .
The Moon in Sign of Bounteousness! the Shade of Allah’s grace!
The King, star-armied! he in aspect fair as Hermes’ ray—
The Khān Muhammed! at the portal of whose sphere of might
To wait as servants would Darius and Key-Khusrev pray!
E’en should the sun till the Last Day it measure with gold beam,
Nor shore nor depth could e’er it find to th’ ocean of his sway!
Nejātī.