1) Thy tangled curls are scattered o'er thy face,
Mingling the Roses with the Hyacinths;
But part asunder those entangled strands,
On every hair thou'lt find there hangs a heart.
2) I am the ocean poured into a jug
I am the point essential to the letter;
In every thousand one greater man stands out,
I am the greater man of this mine Age!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
5) Comest thou thyself? I will cover thee with caresses,
Comest thou not? For thine absence I will sorely grieve
Be thy sorrows that they may, lay them upon my heart, and I will
either die of them or be consumed by them, or bear them bravely
6) That phrase "They said yes!" fills me with alarm
I bear more sins than does a tree bear leaves;
When, on the last day, "They-that-read-the book" shall read,
I bearing such a record, will hang my head.
7) If the mood takes me to seek my Loved one's face,
Restrain me not, my heart is thrall to her;
Ah, Camel-man, for God's sake hast not so!
For I am a laggard behind the caravan.
8) Lord! Who am I, and of what company?
How long shall tears of blood thus blind my eyes?
When other refuge fails I'll turn to Thee,
And if Thou failest me, whither shall I go?
9) O heart of Stone, thou burnest not for me,
That stone burns not, is not, indeed so strange;
But I will burn till I inflame thy heart.
For fresh-cut logs are difficult to burn alone.
10) The picture of thy Beauty, Love quits not my heart,
The down, the mole, Love, on thy cheek I see always;
I'll knit my lashes close o'er wrinkled eyes,
That, weeping, thine image ne'er can leave me.
11) If single were my grieve, what should I care?
If small my sorrows were, what should I care?
Call to my couch lover or my leech,
If either one were nigh, what should I care?
12) Art thou a lion or leopard, O Heart, O Heart;
That thou warrest ever with me, O Heart, O Heart?
Fall thou into my hands; I'll spill thy blood,
To see, what colour it is, O Heart, O Heart
13) A Phoenix I, whose attributes are such
That when I beat my wings, the world takes fire;
And should a Painter limn me on a wall
Mine image being there would burn the house.
14) My new-born Vision of Beauty, where art thou?
Where art thou with thy surmesh-shaded eyes?
the soul of Ṭāhir struggles to be free,
and, at this Supreme Moment, where art thou?