O Hasan, I have spoke and sighed and sung,
Yet never from my heart my tale was wrung,
My secret grief can never find a tongue.

Hasan.

XXVI.

I cannot rise to follow her,
    Here in the dust is my abode,
For I am but her foot-print left
    Lying forgotten in the road.

Where are repose and patience gone? 
    Where is my honour, held so fair? 
All these are naught to me—­I dwell
    In the black chambers of Despair!

INSHA.

XXVII.

How can I win that Hidden One
    Who sits within the secret place? 
For even in my very dreams
    She wears the veil upon her face.

What heart is there in all the world
    Can bear thy cruel tyranny? 
Keep then this broken heart of mine
    That thus thou mayst remember me!

Jurat.

XXVIII.

What kind of comforter art thou to me? 
What help and solace in calamity? 
No wound is there upon my bruised heart
But thou hast touched to make it sting and smart!

But yet, Beloved One, I ask in pain
When is the hour when thou wilt come again? 
My soul cries out to thee in bitter need
—­When wilt thou come—­or wilt thou come indeed?

O Saki, do not pass my goblet by,
Although the feast is spread its lip is dry. 
Be careful, O my tears, lest you should tell
The world my secret that you know too well.

O Sorrow, in thy tangled paths I go,
The Kaaba’s gateway I no longer know,
But bend my head wherever I see rise
The arch that curves o’er the Beloved’s eyes.

Mir.

XXIX.

    To whom shall I relate
The weary story of my sorrowful love? 
    O Friend, this is my fate,
This is the record of the pain thereof.

    I prayed in vain to her;
She said—­You weary me, I hear thy prayer,
    It is thy messenger,
But when it pleads with me I do not care.

    I said—­Never again
Canst thou forget my faithfulness to thee;
    She answered in disdain
—­What mean thy love and faithfulness to me?

    Life called to me
Telling me earth is full of hope and bliss,
    Now undeceived I see
How foolish I to seek a world like this.

MIR SOZ.

XXX.

Even in the Kaaba courts my heart was moved,
Brooding upon the idol that I loved,
Mourning its loss.  Now like a bird am I,
That painted in a picture cannot fly
Nor move nor sing; my heart is so outworn
With all the lingering sorrow I have borne. 
Within my heart thy presence I have felt,
Within mine eyes, Beloved, thou hast dwelt
For long long days.  Who taught thee for a shrine
To choose a heart so desolate as mine? 
Long time I told my friends my bitter grief,
And in the telling sought to find relief;
In silence now instead I take my rest,
And find that peace and loneliness are best.