artists:
of fine countenance and distinguished manners, and extremely loved
and admired by his subjects: skilled in all kinds of poetry, and some
of his ghazals continue to be popular: author of a voluminous Diwan,
and a Commentary on the Gulistan of Saadi: a clever caligraphist, wrote
with his own hand passages from the Koran for the ornamentation of
the principal Mosque of Delhi. His son Dara was also a poet. At the
Mutiny in 1857 he was taken prisoner and sent to Rangoon: there he
continued to write verses, and died at an advanced age. His portrait,
which forms the frontispiece to this book, is from a miniature kindly
lent by the Indian Section of the Victoria and Albert Museum, South
Kensington.

J.D.W.
Dulwich Village, London.
October, 1918.

I.

Thou tak'st no heed of me,
I am as naught to thee;
Cruel Beloved, arise!
Lovely and languid thou,
Sleep still upon thy brow,
Dreams in thine eyes.
From out thy garment flows
Fragrance of many a rose--
Airs of delight
Caught in the moonlit hours
Lying among the flowers
Through the long night.
Look on my face how pale!
Will naught my love avail?
Naught my desire?
Hold it as gold that is
Cleansed of impurities
Tried in the fire.
Pity my heart distrest,
Caught by that loveliest
Tress of thine hair,
So that I fear the shade
Even by thine eyebrows made
O'er eyes so fair.

ABRU.

II.

Thou, Sorrow, wilt keep and wilt cherish the memory of me
Long after my death,
For thou dwelt at my heart, and my blood nourished thee,
Thou wert warmed by my breath.

My heart has disgraced me by clamour and wailing for years
And tossing in pain,
Mine eyes lost their honour by shedding these torrents of tears
Like fast-falling rain.

O Wind of Disaster, destroy not the home of my heart
With the blasts of thine ire,
For there I have kindled to burn in a chamber apart
My Lamp of Desire.

AMIR.

III.

Had I control o'er her, the dear Tormentor,
Then might I rest;
I cannot govern her, nor can I master
The heart within my breast.

I cast myself upon the ground in anguish
Wounded and sore,
Yet longed to have two hearts that she might pierce them,
That I might suffer more.

Utterly from her heart hath she erased me,
No marks remain,
So there shall be no grave from which my ashes
May greet her steps again.

O cruel One, when once your glances smote me,
W