The beauty of thy face was a bed of roses, and my heart a nightingale disporting therein.
With the wine of union it was intoxicated: of the marplot it was free from dread:
Compared with the excessive torments of separation, to it was bliss, the meeting of to-day.
That was an hour of joy and felicity, when the Ḥumā * of union o’ershadow’d its head:
Why then should not the heart its yearnings show, when with sorrow it was constantly filled?
On whom the beloved her glance directed, the entire world was delightful unto him:
Union with the dear one is God’s gift: not that it was brought about by other means.
Indeed, with but one look towards the charmer, even Paradise itself was forgotten by me:
My beloved was one without simile or resemblance, and her beauty the rose’s excelled.
There are many cypresses within the grove; but in stature my friend all, all of them surpassed:
I enjoyed the contemplation of my dear one; for she than nectar was sweeter, by far, to me.
When I would her loveliness behold, how could sun or moon with it compare?
For hot, long shall Aḥmad Shāh extol her, when all the world was occupied with her praise?
Translated By H.G. Raverty,