Bāqī.
GAZEL
Thy cheek, like limpid water, clear doth gleam;
Thy pouting mouth a bubble round doth seem.
The radiance of thy cheek’s sun on the heart
Like moonlight on the water’s face doth beam.
The heart’s page, through the tracings of thy down,
A volume all illumined one would deem.
That fair Moon’s sunny love the earth have burned,
It warm as rays of summer sun doth stream.
At woful sorrow’s feast my blood-shot eyes,
Two beakers of red wine would one esteem.
Bāqī, her mole dark-hued like ambergris,
A fragrant musk-pod all the world would deem.
Bāqī.
GAZEL
All sick the heart with love for her, sad at the feast of woe;
Bent form, the harp; low wail, the flute; heart’s blood for wine doth flow.
Prone lies the frame her path’s dust ’neath, in union’s stream the eye,
In air the mind, the soul ’midst separation’s fiery glow.
Oh, ever shall it be my lot, zone-like, thy waist to clasp!
’Twixt us, O love, the dagger blade of severance doth show!
Thou art the Queen of earth, thy cheeks are Towers of might, this day,
Before thy Horse, like Pawns, the Kings of grace and beauty go.
Him hinder not, beside thee let him creep, O Shade-like stay!
Bāqī, thy servant, O my Queen, before thee lieth low.
Bāqī.
ON AUTUMN
Lo, ne’er a trace or sign of springtide’s beauty doth remain;
Fall’n ’midst the garden lie the leaves, now all their glory vain.
Bleak stand the orchard trees, all clad in tattered dervish rags;
Dark Autumn’s blast hath torn away the hands from off the plane.
From each hill-side they come and cast their gold low at the feet
Of garden trees, as hoped the streams from these some boon to gain.
Stay not within the parterre, let it tremble with its shame:
Bare every shrub, this day doth naught or leaf or fruit retain.
Bāqī, within the garden lies full many a fallen leaf;
Low lying there, it seems they ’gainst the winds of Fate complain.
Bāqī.