While each dawn the clouds are shedding jewels o’er the rosy land,
And the breath of morning’s zephyr, fraught with Tātār musk is bland;
While the world’s fair time is present, do not thou unheeding stand:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

With the fragrance of the garden, so imbued the musky air,
Every dew-drop, ere it reaches earth, is turned to attar rare;
O’er the parterre spread the incense-clouds a canopy right fair:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

Whatsoe’er the garden boasted smote the black autumnal blast;
But, to each one justice bringing, back hath come Earth’s King at last;
In his reign joyed the cup-bearer, round the call for wine is past:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

Ah! I fondly hope, Mesīhī, fame may to these quatrains cling;
May the worthy these four-eyebrowed beauties oft to mem’ry bring;
Stray among the rosy faces, Bulbul, who so sweet dost sing:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

Mesīhī.

FRAGMENT

Both crown and robe forsake shall I, I’ll roam, by these unprest, a while;
’Midst foreign lands, far off from here, I’ll dwell a wayworn guest, a while.
O minstrel fair, both harp and lute’s sweet music hushed must now remain;
Woe’s feast is spread, ah! there the flute:—my sighs by grief opprest, a while.
Sometimes I’ll fall, sometimes I’ll rise, sometimes I’ll laugh, sometimes I’ll weep,
Blood drinking now, woe tasting then, distracted sore I’ll rest, a while.

Harīmī.

GAZEL

Once from sleep I oped my eyes, I raised my head, when full in sight
There before me stood a moon-faced beauty, lovely, shining, bright.
Thought I: “In th’ ascendant’s now my star, or I my fate have reached,
For within my chamber sure is risen Jupiter this night.”
Radiance from his beauty streaming saw I, though to outward view
(While himself a Muslim) he in garb of infidel is dight.
Though I oped my eyes or closed them, still the form was ever there;
Thus I fancied to myself: “A fairy this or angel bright?”
Till the Resurrection ne’er shall Mihrī gain the Stream of Life;
Yet in Night’s deep gloom Iskender gleamed before her wond’ring sight.