Through Love did I the joy of life attain,
And walking in the way that He hath led
I found the remedy to heal all pain;
Why therefore is my pain unremedied?

At board and-banquet have I been a jest,
And whoso chose might point a gibe at me;
Full five years didst thou my stanch service test,
Now shalt thou bite thy nails to find me free.

I mind not tears — unmoved by trick so stale;
Cynthia, thy tears from artful motives flow;
I weep to part, but wrongs o'er sobs prevail;
'T is thou hast dealt love's yoke its crushing blow.

Threshold, adieu, that pitied my distress,
And door that took no hurt from angered hand;
But thee, false woman, may the inroads press

Rightly I 'm served, who had the heart to fly!
To the lone halcyons here I make my moan:
Nor shall my keel its wonted port draw nigh —
Adrift on thankless shore my vows are thrown.

Nay, more! the adverse winds espouse thy side!
Lo! in rude gusts how fiercely chides the gale!
Will no sweet Peace o'er yon wild tempest ride?
Must these few sands to hide my corpse avail?

Nay, change thy harsh complaints for milder tones!
Let night on yonder shoals my pardon buy.
Thou wilt not brook to leave unurned my bones:

LOVE ACCEPTED .

E'en as from airy heights of mountain springeth a springlet
Limpedest leaping forth from rocking felted with moss,
Then having headlong rolled the prone-laid valley downpouring,
Populous region amid wendeth his gradual way,
Sweetest solace of all to the sweltering traveller way-worn,
Whenas the heavy heat fissures the fiery fields;
Or, as to seamen lost in night of whirlwind a-glooming
Gentle of breath there comes fairest and favouring breeze,

A little mongrel dog — he couldn't boast
The smallest trace of blooded pedigree —
All legs and feet, a no'count tail, that thumped
Its joyous greeting at the sight of me —

But loving! There's no dictionary prints
The word which, to my thinking, can express
That look that shone in his brown eyes of trust,
Solicitude and wistful tenderness!

O' nights his tawny head against my knee,
We'd sit together — yesterday he died —
And every one who loves a dog will know
Just why, a lonely-hearted man — I cried!

Things never changed since the Time of the Gods:
The flowing of water, the Way of Love.

Thinking to-morrow remains, thou heart's frail flower-of-cherry,
How knowest whether this night the tempest will not come?

All things change, we are told, in this world of change and sorrow;
But love's way never changes of promising never to change.

If with my sleeve I hide the faint colour of the dawning sun —
Then, perhaps, in the morning my love will remain.

The fire of love I for my idol know
Within my bosom hides,
As in the mountain 'neath its crust of snow
The flame abides.

Long have I yearned in vain to kiss her feet,
I lay my weary head
Down in the dust, that thus my lips may greet
Where she may tread.

No wealth have I, but like the moth I live:
Since love demands a price,
I, like the moth, have but my life to give
In sacrifice.

How has my bird-like soul been stricken low,
Pierced to the very heart!
My love has used instead of bolt and bow
A deadlier dart.

How long will she thus stand unveiled before me,
Shrinking and shy in maidenly distress,
How long, my dazzled eyes, can ye contemplate
Her blinding loveliness!

No rest is for my heart by love tormented,
It cannot even win the peace of death;
How long shall it endure with resignation
The pain it suffereth!

Like shifting shadows come the great and mighty,
And live their splendid day, and hurry past;
And who can tell how long the changing pageant
Of fleeting life shall last!

O look on me, unhappy Asif, driven

If you should meet the Loved One as you stray,
O give my letter secretly to her,
Then haste away
And do not tell my name, O Messenger.

O Morning Winds that from the garden blow,
Should you meet one like me forlorn and sad,
On him bestow
The peace and solace I have never had.

O Eyes that weep and weep unsatisfied,
That shed such floods, yet never find relief,
O stem your tide
Lest you should drown the world in seas of grief.

She need not have one anxious doubt of me,
She need not fear my further wanderings—

That rogue called Love having left me,
How cold snow feels to me!