The Bride of the rose is come Again to the Feast of Spring
The bride of the rose is come Again to the Feast of Spring;
Where is the bulbul sweet-tongued? Say, " Lift up thy voice and sing! "
Plain not of severance, heart; For rose in this world and thorn
Are coupled and up and down And gladness and sorrowing.
Bent double, bow-like, with grief Am I; yet no word I breathe
Of leaving the brow-browed fair, Whose eye-glances arrows fling.
Abroad by thy browlock blazed My heart's distraction's grown;
No wonder of musk it is If it be tale-bearing.
From Time Unbegun and not Now only, I, heart-distraught,
My face on thy threshold laid, With burning and wearying.
All one in the way of Love To Hafiz are hard and eath;
What differeth hill from vale, Indeed, to the bird on the wing?
Where is the bulbul sweet-tongued? Say, " Lift up thy voice and sing! "
Plain not of severance, heart; For rose in this world and thorn
Are coupled and up and down And gladness and sorrowing.
Bent double, bow-like, with grief Am I; yet no word I breathe
Of leaving the brow-browed fair, Whose eye-glances arrows fling.
Abroad by thy browlock blazed My heart's distraction's grown;
No wonder of musk it is If it be tale-bearing.
From Time Unbegun and not Now only, I, heart-distraught,
My face on thy threshold laid, With burning and wearying.
All one in the way of Love To Hafiz are hard and eath;
What differeth hill from vale, Indeed, to the bird on the wing?
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