Zaburi Ajam [Electronic resources] نسخه متنی

3

O bring me back the singing.

The airs of long ago;

Bring back the sweet, sad music

To set cold hearts aglow.

Too hushed is mosque and temple,

Too silent church and shrine;

Stir up a thousand tumults

With that dark glance of thine.

Fill me the fiery goblet

That made my dust to flame:

Youth thirsts anew, desirous,

And youth shall quaff the same.

The pipe that sets a-dancing

The heart within the breast,

The wine that moves the spirit

And melts and soul oppressed—

Soft amid Persia’s rushes

The breeze of morning sings:

Bring me the spark that trickles

From those melodious strings.