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O friends, the tears flow ever, in mockery of my pain; My heart is sick for sev’rance and love-longing in vain.
All wasted is my body and bowels tortured sore; Love’s fire on me still waxeth, mine eyes with tears still rain.
Whenas the fire of passion flamed in my breast, with tears, Upon the day of wailing, to quench it I was fain.
Desire hath left me wasted, afflicted, sore afraid, For the spy knows the secret whereof I do complain.
When I recall the season of love-delight with them, The sweet of sleep forsakes me, my body wastes amain.
Those who our parting plotted our sev’rance still delights; The spies, for fearful prudence, their wish of us attain.
I fear me for my body from sickness and unrest, Lest of the fear of sev’rance it be betrayed and slain.
When Hafizeh had made an end of her song, El Abbas said to her, “Well done! Indeed, thou quickenest hearts from sorrows.” Then he called another damsel of the daughters of the Medes, by name Merjaneh, and said to her, “O Merjaneh, sing to me upon the days of separation.” “Hearkening and obedience,” answered she and improvising, sang the following verses:
“Fair patience practise, for thereon still followeth content.” So runs the rede ’mongst all that dwell in city or in tent.
How oft of dole have I made moan for love and longing pain, What while my body for desire in mortal peril went!
How oft I’ve waked, how many a cup of sorrow have I drained, Watching the stars of night go by, for sleepless languishment!
It had sufficed me, had thy grace with verses come to me; My expectation still on thee in the foredawns was bent.
