Her hair with ambergris perfumed was waving o’er her cheek,
On many grieving, passioned souls it cruel woe did wreak;
Her graceful form and many charms my wildered heart made weak;
The eye beheld her figure fair, then heart and soul did seek.
“Ah! what bright thing this cypress of the plain?” I said; said she:
“Tis that which thy fixed gaze beholds apart; aye, truly thine!”
When their veil her tulip and dog-rose had let down yesterday,
The morning breeze tore off that screen which o’er these flow’rets lay;
Came forth that Envy of the sun in garden fair to stray,
Like lustrous pearls the dew-drops shone, a bright and glistening spray.
“Pearls, say, are these, aye pearls from ‘Aden’s main?” I said; said she:
“Tears, these, of poor Fuzūlī, sad of heart; aye, truly thine!”
Fuzūlī.
MUKHAMMES
Attar within vase of crystal, such thy fair form silken-gowned;
And thy breast is gleaming water, where the bubbles clear abound;
Thou so bright none who may gaze upon thee on the earth is found;
Bold wert thou to cast the veil off, standing forth with garland crowned:
Not a doubt but woe and ruin all the wide world must confound!
Lures the heart thy gilded palace, points it to thy lips the way;
Eagerly the ear doth listen for the words thy rubies say;
Near thy hair the comb remaineth, I despairing far away;
Bites the comb, each curling ringlet, when it through thy locks doth stray:
Jealous at its sight, my heart’s thread agonized goes curling round.
Ah! her face the rose, her shift rose-hued, her trousers red their shade;
With its flame burns us the fiery garb in which thou art arrayed.
Ne’er was born of Adam’s children one like thee, O cruel maid!
Moon and Sun, in beauty’s circle, at thy fairness stand dismayed:
Seems it thou the Sun for mother and the Moon for sire hast owned.
Captive bound in thy red fillet, grieve I through thy musky hair;
Prone I ’neath those golden anklets which thy silvern limbs do wear;
Think not I am like thy fillet, empty of thy grace, O fair!
Rather to the golden chain, which hangs thy cheek round, me compare:
In my sad heart pangs a thousand from thy glance’s shafts are found.
Eyes with antimony darkened, hands with hinna crimson dyed;
Through these beauties vain and wanton like to thee was ne’er a bride.
Bows of poplar green, thy painted brows; thy glances shafts provide.
Poor Fuzūlī for thine eyes and eyebrows aye hath longing cried:
That the bird from bow and arrow flees not, well may all astound.
Fuzūlī.