| From the Friend my dole is, My delight no less |
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| The Head of our purpose cleaves To the Loved One's threshold sill |
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| My heart, for desire of the visage so fair Of Ferrukh |
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| In the Friend's high places every Heart's initiate abideth |
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| Thy fair form on goodly fashion, O Beloved mine, They've stablished |
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| All the bulbul's thought his lover How the rose may be is |
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| Vouchsafed is the sight of the fair To me and her kiss and embrace, too |
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| Ballad of Ladies' Love, Number Two |
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| In the bigot seeming-holy Knowledge of our state is not |
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| The Apple of mine eye, my fair, Thy place of session grown is |
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