O woe! The sky is thin, listless.
O woe! The stars are withered, extinguished.
O woe! The winds are still, dead.
O woe! The world is inhabited by graves.
O woe! Today, words have turned to stone.
O woe! Again and again, my heart swells, bursts, melts.
O woe! Do not ever become like me.
O woe! The waters of love are poisonous,
O woe! The road is long and harsh,
O woe! And ankle deep in thorns.
O woe! Here, you are robbed of everything .
O woe! Even death is not for you.
O woe! Today, the songs of love are bitter.

O were my Love yon lilac fair,
   Wi' purple blossoms to the spring,
And I a bird to shelter there,
   When wearied on my little wing;
How I wad mourn when it was torn
   By autumn wild and winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing
   When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.

O gin my Love were yon red rose
   That grows upon the castle wa',
And I mysel a drap o' dew,
   Into her bonnie breast to fa';
O there, beyond expression blest,

O thou Nightingale of Madina?
What's that ghazal from the lips of thine
Which has made the rose of love
Bloom in the bower desert wild?

The song-birds started singing
In regions far and wide!
Thro 'the heights of. the etherial sky,
Rang thc Muazzine's melodious cry!

In the Sahara desert, parched cou1d dry,
Thou had created a garden of flowers
Where the Companions came like bees
And hummed the hymn of 'La Shareek'!

[Original in Bangla: Ay moru-parer hawa; Translation: Mizanur Rahman]

O store Gud! vi love Dig
Af Hjertens Grund evindelig!


I Naade seer Du til os ned,
Og evig er Din Miskundhed!


Lov-Sangen fra den frelste Jord
Sig blande med dit Engle-Chor!


Ja, Adams Æt istemmer glad
Cherubers og Serafers Kvad:
Hellig, Kiærlig, Stærk og Viis!
Evig Ære, Lov og Priis,
Alle vide Vegne fra,
Være Dig! Halleluja!


Du skabde Himlen underskiøn,
Og i dit Billed Støvets Søn!


Du styrted Aanden stolt i Hu,
Det faldne Støv opreiste Du!

O Radiance of life's morning! O gold without alloy!
O love that lives through all the years! O full, O perfect joy!
The hills of earth touch heaven, the heaven of blue and gold,
And angel voices swell the song of love and peace untold!

O radiance of life's morning!
The dew within the rose,
The fragrance fresh from Eden
That freights each breeze that blows!

Dear Christ, the wine of Cana pour out in rich supply,
These hearts keep young with gladness while all the years go by!

O radiance of life's morning!
O gold without alloy!

O Nightingale! thou surely art
A creature of a "fiery heart":--
These notes of thine--they pierce and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
Had helped thee to a Valentine;
A song in mockery and despite
Of shades, and dews, and silent night;
And steady bliss, and all the loves
Now sleeping in these peaceful groves.
I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come at by the breeze:
He did not cease; but cooed--and cooed;

Welcome, welcome, o my lovely Death,
I am not frightened, till my last breath. (1)
Dies a tree, dies a bee, do they care you?
You are not out of earth, new not are you. (2)

I do feel ache and pleasure before you come,
No pain, no gain, when I am at your home. (3)
Gandhi died, died Osama (?) , one day I shall.
Life is not a lotus bed; death is not a hell. (4)

Lovely wife of a life, long live o! Great,
Let happen every thing, but no death of death.(5)

Tomorrow will be today tomorrow,
today will be yesterday.
This happiness will be sorrow
when 'Goodbye' you, Love, say.

O my Love, rose like red,
if this love once hatred-
why have we come so close?
O my Love, red red rose!

O My Lord, Your dwelling places are lovely
Your Presence is manifest, not in mystery.
My dream brought me to the Temple of God
And I praised its delightful servants,
And the burnt offering, its meal and libation
Which rose up in great pillars of smoke.
I delighted in the song of the Levites,
In their secrets of the sacrificial service.
Then I woke, and still I was with you, O Lord,
And I gave thanks - for to You it is pleasant to give thanks

O my hart and O my hart!
My hart it is so sore,
Sens I must nedys from my love depart
And know no cunse wherefore.