THE SONG OF LOVE’S NURSE
O moon! sleep, sleep thou, for this night
The cry “O Lord!” upon thine ear shall smite;
Though formed, its purpose is yet hid from sight,
It shall be seen—the stars’ potential might.
Thou’lt be the roast upon the spit of pain!
O Rosebud! sleep thou, then, this little while;
The Sphere’s design against thee sooth is vile,
For pitiless is it and strong in guile;
Ah! never trust it, even though it smile.
Thou’lt have, I fear me, reason oft to plain!
O Love’s Narcissus! sleep the sleep of peace!
Fall at the skirt of Fate and beg surcease;
Thy soul’s eye ope—and, lo! thy fears increase!
Guard thee against the end of woe, nor cease.
Thou’lt be as plaything by Misfortune ta’en!
Come, in the cradle of repose thee rest
A few short nights, by sorrow undistrest;
Bid care and all it brings leave thee unprest;
In place of milk, blood shall be thy bequest.
Thou’lt need the goblet of despite to drain!
O Jasmine-breast! within the cradle lie;
Thus will not long remain the rolling Sky:
The stars do not aye in one circle hie;
See what they’ll do to thee, Love, by and by.
Thou’lt be the mill on sorrow’s torrent’s train!
From slumber do not thou thine eyelids keep,
If aid can reach thee, it will come through sleep;
The Sphere will give a draught of poison deep,
Then will thy work, like Gālib’s, be to weep.
Thou’lt be the rebec at the feast of pain!
Gālib.