Its limpid stream where the shadows wait
Like the fount of Khizr giveth life for aye.
’Twixt Jafrabad and Mosalla’s close
Flies the north wind laden with ambergris—
Oh, come to Shiraz when the north wind blows!
There abideth the angel Gabriel’s peace
With him who is lord of its treasures; the fame
Of the sugar of Egypt shall fade and cease,
For the breath of our beauties has put it to shame.
Oh wind that blows from the sun-rising,