Zaburi Ajam [Electronic resources] نسخه متنی

16

Although the Angel dwells beyond

The talisman of the skies,

Yet on this hand of dust in fond

Affection rest his eyes.

Think not upon one fashion goes

The game of lore forlorn;

Sane are the tulip and the rose

And yet their robe is torn.

The tale of passion told may be

Where the Friend sojourneth

Alone, with a lament that’s free

Of all defiling breath.

So from a star a man may clutch

The apple of its eye;

Mind is a falcon at his touch

Eager and swift to fly.

Unveil thy face; for He Who spake,

"Thou shalt not gaze on Me"

A hand of dust in view to take

Still waiteth patiently.

Who sang within the flowery mead?

Say, whence his anthem came

That lo! the rosebud hides her head,

The roses blush for shame.