| 'TIS the brand of desire makes the blood of man run warm, |
| By the lamp of desire this dust is enkindled. |
| By desire Life's cup is brimmed with wine, |
675 |
| So that Life leaps to its feet and marches briskly on. |
| Life is occupied with conquest alone, |
| And the one charm for conquest is desire. |
| Life is the hunter and desire the snare, |
| Desire is Love's message to Beauty. |
680 |
| Wherefore doth desire swell continuously |
| The bass and treble of Life's song? |
| Whatsoever is good and fair and beautiful |
| Is our guide in the wilderness of seeking, |
| Its image becomes impressed on thine heart, |
685 |
| It creates desires in thine heart. |
| Beauty is the creator of desire's springtide, |
| Desire is nourished by the display of Beauty. |
| 'Tis in the poet's breast that Beauty unveils, |
| 'Tis from his Sinai that Beauty's beams arise. |
690 |
| By his look the fair is made fairer, |
| Through his enchantments Nature is more beloved. |
| From his lips the -nightingale hath learned her song, |
| And his rouge hath brightened the cheek of the rose. |
| 'Tis his passion burns in the heart of the moth, |
695 |
| 'Tis he that lends glowing hues to love tales. |
| Sea and land are hidden within his water and clay61- |
| A hundred new Worlds are concealed in his heart, |
| Ere tulips blossomed in his brain |
| There was heard on note of joy or grief. |
700 |
| His music breathes o'er us a wonderful enchantment, |
| His pen draws a mountain with a single hair. |
| His thoughts dwell with the moon and the stars, |
| He creates beauty and knows not what is ugly. |
| He is a Khizr, and amidst his darkness is the Fountain of Life:62 |
705 |
| All things that exist are made more living by his tears. |
| Heavily we go, like raw novices, |
| Stumbling on the way to the goal. |
| His nightingale hath played a tune |
| And laid a plot to beguile us. |
710 |
| That he may lead us into Life's Paradise, |
| And that Life's bow may become a full circle |
| Caravans march at the sound of his bell |
| And follow the voice of his pipe; |
| When his zephyr blows in our garden, |
715 |
| It slowly steals into the tulips and roses. |
| His witchery makes Life develop itself |
| And become self-questioning and impatient. |
| He invites the whole world to his table; |
| He lavishes his fire as though it were cheap as air. |
720 |
| Woe to a people that resigns itself to death. |
| And whose poet turns away from the joy of living! |
| His mirror shows beauty as ugliness, |
| His honey leaves a hundred stings in the heart. |
| His kiss robs the rose of freshness, |
725 |
| He takes away from the nightingale's heart the joy of flying. |
| The sinews are relaxed by his opium, |
| Thou payest for his song with the life. |
| He bereaves the cypress of delight in its beauty. |
| His cold breath makes a pheasant of the male falcon. |
730 |
| He is a fish. and from the breast upward a man, |
| Like the Sirens in the ocean, |
| With his song he enchants the pilot |
| And casts the ship to the bottom of the sea. |
| His melodies steal firmness from thine heart, |
735 |
| His magic persuades thee that death is life. |
| He takes from thy soul the desire of existence, |
| He extracts from thy mine the blushing ruby. |
| He dresses gain in the garb of loss, |
| He makes everything praiseworthy blameful |
740 |
| He plunges thee in a sea of thought |
| And makes thee a stranger to action. |
| He is sick, and by his words our sickness is increased |
| The more his cup goes round, the more sick are they -that quaff it. |
| There are no lightning rains in his April, |
745 |
| His garden is a mirage of colour and perfume. |
| His beauty hath no dealings with Truth, |
| There are none but flawed pearls in his sea. |
| Slumber he deemed sweeter than waking: |
| Our fire was quenched by his breath. |
750 |
| By the chant of his nightingale the heart was poisoned: |
| Under his heap of roses lurked a snake. |
| Beware of his decanter and cup! |
| Beware of his sparkling wine! |
| O thou whom his wine hath laid low |
755 |
| And who look'st to his glass for thy rising dawn, |
| O thou whose heart hath been chilled by his melodies, |
| Thou hast drunk deadly poison through the ear! |
| Thy way of life is a proof of thy degeneracy, |
| The strings of thine instrument are out of tune, |
760 |
| 'Tis pampered case hath made thee to wretched, |
| A disgrace to Islam throughout. the world, |
| One can bind thee with the vein of a rose. |
| One can wound thee with a zephyr. |
| Love hath been put to shame by thy wailing, |
765 |
| His fair picture hath been fouled by thy brush. |
| Thy illness hath paled his cheek, |
| The coldness hath taken the glow from his fire. |
| He is heartsick from thy heart sicknesses, |
| And enfeebled by thy feeblenesses. |
770 |
| His cup is full of childish tears, |
| His house is furnished with distressful sighs.63 |
| He is a drunkard begging at tavern doors. |
| Stealing glimpses of beauty from lattices, |
| Unhappy, melancholy, injured, |
775 |
| Kicked well-nigh to death by the warder; |
| Wasted like a reed by sorrows, |
| On his lips a store of complaints against Heaven. |
| Flattery and spite are the mettle of his mirror, |
| Helplessness his comrade of old; |
780 |
| A miserable base-born underling |
| Without worth or hope or object, |
| Whose lamentations have sucked the marrow from thy soul |
| And driven off gentle sleep from thy neighbours' eyes. |
| Alas for a love whose fire is extinct, |
785 |
| A love that was born in the Holy Place and died in the house of idols! |
| Oh, if thou hast the coin of poesy in thy purse, |
| Rub it on the touchstone of Life! |
| Clear-seeing thought shows the way to action, |
| As the lightning-flash precedes the thunder. |
790 |
| It behoves thee to meditate well concerning literature, |
| It behoves thee to go back to Arabia |
| Thou must needs give thine heart to the Salma of Arady,64 |
| That the morn of the Hijaz may blossom from the night of Kurdistan65. |
| Thou hast gathered roses from the garden of Persia |
795 |
| And seen the springtide of India and Iran: |
| Now taste a little of the heat of the desert, |
| Drink the old wine of the date! |
| Lay thine head for once on its hot breast. |
| Yield thy body awhile to its scorching wind! |
800 |
| For a long time thou hast turned about on a bed of silk: |
| Now accustom thyself to rough cotton! |
| For generations thou hast danced on tulips |
| And bathed thy cheek in dew, like the rose: |
| Now throw thyself on the burning sand |
805 |
| And plunge in to the fountain of Zamzam! |
| How long wilt thou fain lament like the nightingale ? |
| How long make thine abode in gardens? |
| O thou whose auspicious snare would do honour to the Phoenix, |
| Build a nest on the high mountains, |
810 |
| A nest embosomed in lightning and thunder, |
| Loftier than eagle's eye, |
| That thou mayst be fit for Life's battle, |
| That thy body and soul may burn in Life's fire! |
