TRANSLATIONS
303
THE FLUTE
FROM HILALI
Hark what, now loud, now low, the pining flute complains,
Without tongue, yellow-cheeked, full of winds that wail and sigh;
Saying, Sweetheart! the old mystery remains,—
If I am I; thou, thou; or thou art I?
TO THE SHAH
FROM HAFIZ
Thy foes to hunt, thy enviers to strike down,
Poises Arcturus aloft morning and evening his spear.
TO THE SHAH
FROM ENWERI
Not in their houses stand the stars,
But o'er the pinnacles of thine!
TO THE SHAH
FROM ENWERI
From thy worth and weight the stars gravitate,
And the equipoise of heaven is thy house's equipoise.
