‘Andelīb, th’ adopted sister, from this transient world hath flown,
Yonder midst the flowers of Eden while still in her youth to stray.
No physician, neither charmer, on the earth her pain could ease;
So that youthful beauty bided not to smile on earth’s mead gay.
With her two-and-twenty summers, cypress-like was she, ah me!
But the sullen blast of autumn smote her life’s bright, lovely May.
For its tyranny and rancor might have blushed the vile, hard Sphere,
As the sister of earth’s Monarch pined in grief without allay.
Though her kind friend never parted from her eye’s sweet, gentle beam,
Still did she to God her soul yield, and the call, Return, obey.
Down the wayward Sphere hath stricken that bright Jewel to the earth;
What avail though men and angels tears of blood shed in dismay?
Length of days to that great Sultan grant may He, the God of Truth!
And yon fair Pearl’s tomb make rival His own Eden’s bright display!
With the dotted letters, Leylā, thou the year tell’st of her death—
Calm among delightsome bowers may ‘Andelīb her nest array!
Leylā Khānim.
TAKHMĪS
’Tis yonder Darling of my soul that wildering my sense o’er-throws;
My waving Cypress ’tis that freshness to the garden doth disclose;
The bird, my heart, my gardener is in Love’s fair parterre of the rose:
Mine eyes’ field with thy cheek’s reflection as my flowery orchard shows;
For long my heart the picture of thy palm-like figure doth enclose.
The world seems in my eyes as prison that doth my dear love control;
Through love for thee my heart acquireth many a scar, and that’s the whole;
From hour to hour thine absence makes my tears like rushing waters roll:
The heart bows down through grief for thee, and constant weeps the life, the soul;
The fountain of this vineyard is the stream that from my weeping flows.
As well thou know’st, through fire of love for thee how sad my plight of woe,
My smiling Rosebud, wilt thou ne’er a glance of pity toward me throw?
My sighs and wailings thou dost see, Oh, but for once compassion show:
Through gazing on the rose and bower, my heart repose shall never know,
The ward where doth my loved one dwell alone can yield my soul repose.
Oh, how I think upon thy box-tree form in sorrow’s night so drear!
My story would Mejnūn’s and Ferhād’s tales from mind make disappear.
My groans and sighs and wails thus high do I unto the Heavens uprear,
By reason of the sparks my sighings raise that steely bowl, the Sphere,
Revolves each night, my gold-enamelled beaker at the feast of woes.
From thought of yonder witching eye my heart is ne’er a moment free;
When flow thy tears recall not thou to mind, O Leylā, ‘Omān’s Sea.
Beneath thy shade my own heart’s blood is all that hath been gained by me:
My tears, an ocean vast; my lashes, coral branches, O Bāqī!
The mem’ry, ’tis of thy palm-form that as my Judas-tree bright glows.
Leylā Khānim.