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On Autumn

Lo, ne'er a trace or sign of springtide's beauty doth remain;

Fall'n 'midst the garden lie the leaves, now all their glory vain.

Bleak stand the orchard trees, all clad in tattered dervish rags;

Dark Autumn's blast hath torn away the hands from off the plane.

From each hill-side they come and cast their gold low at the feet.

Of garden trees, as hoped the streams from these some boon to gain.

Stay not within the parterre, let it tremble with its shame:

Bare every shrub, this day doth naught of leaf or fruit retain.

Baqi, within the garden lies full many a fallen leaf;

Low lying there, it seems they 'gainst the winds of Fate complain.

Ghazal 5

Thy cheek, like limpid water, clear doth gleam;

Thy pouting mouth a bubble round doth seem.

The radiance of thy cheek's sun on the heart

Like moonlight on the water's face doth beam.

The heart's page, through the tracings of thy down,

A volume all illumined one would deem.

That fair Moon's sunny love the earth have burned,

It warm as rays of summer sun doth stream.

At woful sorrow's feast my bloodshot eyes,

Two beakers of red wine would one esteem.

Baqi, her mole dark-hued like ambergris,

A fragrant musk-pod all the world would deem.

Ghazal 2

Years trodden under foot have I lain on that path of thine;

Thy musky locks are noose-like cast, around my feet to twine.

O Princess mine! boast not thyself through loveliness of face,

For that, alas, is but a sun which must full soon decline!

The loved one's stature tall, her form as fair as juniper,

Bright 'midst the rosy bowers of grace a slender tree doth shine.

Her figure, fair-proportioned as my poesy sublime,

Her slender waist is like its subtle thought—-hard to divine.

Then yearn not, Baqi, for the load of love's misfortune dire;

For that to bear mayhap thy soul no power doth enshrine.

Ghazal 10

When the sheets have yonder Torment to their bosom ta'en to rest,

Think I, "Hides the night-adorning Moon within the cloudlet's breast."

In the dawning, O thou turtle, mourn not with those senseless plaints;

In the bosom of some stately cypress thou'rt a nightly guest.

Why thou weepest from the heavens, never can I think, O dew;

Every night some lovely rose's bosom fair thou enterest.

Hath the pearl seen in the story of thy teeth its tale of shame,

Since the sea hath hid the album of the shell within its breast?

Longing for thy cheeks, hath Baqi all his bosom marked with scars,

Like as though he'd cast of rose-leaves fresh a handful o'er his chest

Ghazal 3

With her graceful-moving form, a Cypress jasmine-faced is she?

Or in Eden's bower a branch upon the Lote or Tuba-tree?

That thy blood-stained shaft which rankles in my wounded breast, my love,

In the rosebud hid a lovely rose-leaf, sweetheart, can it be?

To the dead of pain of anguish doth its draught fresh life impart;

O cupbearer, is the red wine Jesu's breath? tell, tell to me!

Are they teeth those in thy mouth, or on the rosebud drops of dew?

Are they sparkling stars, or are they gleaming pearls, that there I see?

Through the many woes thou wreakest upon Baqi, sick of heart,

Is't thy will to slay him, or is it but sweet disdain in thee?

Ghazal 1

'Tis love's wild sea, my sighs' fierce wind doth lash those waves my tears uprear;

My head, the bark of sad despite; mine eyebrows twain, the anchors here.

Mine unkempt hair, the den of yonder tiger dread, the fair one's love;

My head, dismay and sorrow's realm's deserted mountain region drear.

At whatsoever feast I drain the cup thy rubies' mem'ry to,

Amidst all those who grace that feast, except the dregs, I've no friend near.

Thou know'st, O Light of my poor eyes, with tutya mixed are gems full bright,

What then if weep on thy path's dust mine eyes that scatter pearls most clear!

The Sphere, old hag, with witchcraft's spell hath parted me from my fond love,

O Baqi, see, by God, how vile a trick yon jade hath played me here!