Your joy to see unveiled her haughty glance
That flashes like the scimitar of Ede.
When I had hardly drawn my latest breath,
Pardon she asked for killing me. Alas,
How soon repentance followed on my death,
How quick her unavailing sorrow was!
GHALIB.
XX.
I grant you will not utterly forget,
I hold you not unheeding and unjust,