Ishraq

Ishraq... O sweet basil of the valley, perfume of the hill,
O breeze of the pure dawn upon the dew-fresh flowers,
O enchantment — the intoxication of beauty upon bare arms;
the sun swims in the carnelian of the hair, just short of the abyss,
and night hides its secrets in the kohl of the eyes.
Ishraq... O melody of beauty, O embrace of its longings,
song of the shaded garden and murmurings of the water-channel,
Ishraq, O enchantment of the valley and perfume of the hill.

★

And I, the love-mad one — how long I kept vigil, how often I raised my prayers
to the allure of those eyes, until Ishraq became one of my idols.
They said I was an unbeliever, that I had set up partners in my faith —
I recited nothing in my prayer-niche but the verse of love-song.
They said that I had bowed down before that temptress
and spilled before her beauty my love and the water of my youth,
and squandered of the pride of young manhood what calls upon my dignity.
So I grew wrathful for the slaughtered pride and at chewing over my humiliation,
and I stormed against the abasing love and cut its strings —
and behold, Ishraq appeared, and my delusions were dispelled.
With her eyelid she beckons; my soul grew drunk and my heart was lost;
and I spoke — and behold, the words melted upon my tongue;
and I swooned from the rapture of a lip that sought my lips.
By God — never in all of time has passion lived the like of that second.

★

A melody that wanders over the hills and lives in my dreamings;
if it vanishes from the world of being, its echo is in my dreams.
Ishraq... O song of the valley and dream of the hill.