SHARQĪ
To whom that wine-red ruby’s shown
Is captive by those locks o’erthrown;
’Tis meet like nightingale I moan:
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.
Unmatched yon maid with waist so spare,
Unrivalled too her wanton air;
Her ways than e’en herself more fair:
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.
The roses like her cheeks are few;
That rose—blush-pink its darling hue;
This summer ere the roses blew,
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.
The rose—the nightingale’s amaze;
The rose the nightingale dismays;
A smile of hers the world outweighs:
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.
O Wāsif, on the rosy lea,
The nightingale thus spake to me:
“Be joyful tidings now to thee—
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.”
Wāsif.