falls, thou sayest—Dawn
Was when I called thee. Even when night is gone
                 I wait unsatisfied.

         When in thy haughty ear they did commend
Me as the faithfullest of all thy train,
Thou saidst—I hold such lovers in disdain,
                 I scoff at such a friend.

         O Mischief-maker, passing-on thy way
So lovely is thy mien, all creatures must
Cry out—It is debarred to things of dust
                 To walk so winningly.

         Why shouldst thou keep from tyranny anew?
Why shouldst thou not betray another one?
What matter if he die? Thou hast but done
                 What thou wast born to do.

         Who cares not for his heart nor for his creed
Is the idolater. His worthless name
Is Dagh. O Fair Ones, look upon his shame!
                 He is disgraced indeed.

XV.

Thy love permits not my complaint to rise,
It reaches to my lips, and then it dies.
Now, helpless heart, I cannot aid thee more,
And thus for thee God's pity must implore.

Seest thou not how much disgrace and pain
The scornful world has heaped upon us twain,
On thee for beauty and the sins thereof,
On me for this infirmity of love.

Oft-times she will not speak to me at all,
Or if she deign to speak, the words that fall
Cold from her haughty lips are words of blame:
—I know thee not—I have not heard thy name!

Deep in my memory was graved the trace
Of all I suffered since I saw thy face;
But now, Belovéd, thou hast come to me,
I have erased the record utterly.

With empty hands all mortal men are whirled
Through Death's grim gate into the other world:
This is my pride that it is granted me
To carry with me my desire for thee.

They say when I complain of all I bore
—It is thy kismet, what would'st thou have more?
My rivals also bear thy tyranny,
Saying—It is her custom and must be!

XVI.

I met you and the pain of separation was forgot,
And all I should have kept in mind my heart remembered not.

What cruelty and scorn I in your bitter letters knew!
No love was there; O Gracious One, have you forgotten too?

Strange is the journey that my soul by wanton Love was led,
Two steps were straight and clear, and four forgotten were instead.

There was some blundering o'er my fate at the Great Reckoning;
You have forgot, O Keeper of the Record, many a thing.

You took my heart, but left my life behind: O see you not
What thing you have remembered, and what thing you have forgot?

To meet Annihilation's sword is the most happy lot
That man can gain, for all the joys of earth has he forgot.

A Muslim on the path of Love beside a Kafir trod,
And one forgot the Kaaba, one the Temple of his God.