Fuzūlī.
GAZEL
From the turning of the Sphere my luck hath seen reverse and woe;
Blood I’ve drunk, for from my banquet wine arose and forth did go.
With the flame, my burning sighs, I’ve lit the wand’ring wildered heart;
I’m a fire, doth not all that which turns about me roasted glow?
With thy rubies wine contended—oh! how it hath lost its wits!
Need ’tis yon ill-mannered wretch’s company that we forego.
Yonder Moon saw not my burning’s flame upon the parting day—
How can e’er the sun about the taper all night burning know?
Every eye that all around tears scatters, thinking of thy shaft,
Is an oyster-shell that causeth rain-drops into pearls to grow.
Forms my sighing’s smoke a cloud that veils the bright cheek of the moon;
Ah! that yon fair Moon will ne’er the veil from off her beauty throw!
Ne’er hath ceased the rival e’en within her ward to vex me sore;
How say they, Fuzūlī, “There’s in Paradise nor grief nor woe”?
Fuzūlī.
MUSEDDES
A stately Cypress yesterday her shade threw o’er my head;
Her form was heart-ensnaring, heart-delighting her light tread;
When speaking, sudden opened she her smiling rubies red,
There a pistachio I beheld that drops of candy shed.
“This casket can it be a mouth? Ah! deign!” I said; said she:
Nay, nay, ’tis balm to cure thy hidden smart; aye, truly thine!”
Down o’er her crescents she had pressed the turban she did wear,
By which, from many broken hearts, sighs raised she of despair;
She loosed her tresses—hid within the cloud her moon so fair,
And o’er her visage I beheld the curls of her black hair.
“Those curling locks, say, are they then a chain?” I said; said she:
That round my cheek, a noose to take thy heart; aye, truly thine!”
The taper bright, her cheek, illumined day’s lamp in the sky;
The rose’s branch was bent before her figure, cypress-high;
She, cypress-like, her foot set down upon the fount, my eye,
But many a thorn did pierce her foot she suffered pain thereby.
“What thorn unto the roseleaf-foot gives pain?” I said; said she:
The lash of thy wet eye doth it impart; aye, truly thine!”
Promenading, to the garden did that jasmine-cheeked one go;
With many a bright adornment in the early springtide’s glow;
The hyacinths their musky locks did o’er the roses throw;
That Picture had tattooed her lovely feet rose-red to show.
“The tulip’s hue whence doth the dog-rose gain?” I said; said she:
“From blood of thine shed ’neath my glance’s dart; aye, truly thine!”
To earth within her ward my tears in torrents rolled apace;
The accents of her ruby lips my soul crazed by their grace;
My heart was taken in the snare her musky locks did trace,
That very moment when my eyes fell on her curls and face.
“Doth Scorpio the bright Moon’s House contain?” I said; said she:
“Fear! threatening this Conjunction dread, thy part; aye, truly thine!”