Zaburi Ajam [Electronic resources] نسخه متنی

58

Soft my breath doth pass

Soft as April airs;

Jasmine-sweet the grass

Springeth from my tears.

Desert tulip glows

With the blood I shed

As in beaker shews

Wine all ruby-red.

Soareth so my flight

O’er the highest sphere

That the souls of light

Seek to trap me there.

Labours ever new

Make man’s dust to glow;

Moon and star still do

As long time ago.

My self’s lamp I lit,

Now that Moses’ hand

Men have hidden it

‘Neath the wristlet-band.

Come, O come to prayer;

Court no prince’s door:

So our fathers were

When the world was poor.