Muntakhab al-tawarikh 367: CLV. Naziri of Nishapur.

367

In graceful wit and clearness of intellect he is the equal of Shakibi of Isfahan. He is now in the service of the Khankhanan.
‘To-day the breeze has a scent of fidelity As though it knew something of love It has thrown my poor mad heart into a turmoil Perchance it has somewhere found cause to be disturbed.
At times I weep, at times I cease from weeping, Lest haply from somewhere I should hear thy voice: Not for a moment am I free from thoughts of thee; I sometimes fear that I may forget to draw my next breath.’
The eyes should know the meaning of grief, The heart’s pain should be set forth in weeping, In the breast should be sparks of fire instead of a heart, The heart instead of tears should be in the eyes.
Every year when the rose comes again into the garden Joy and gladness come into the world: On the rose’s page it is easy to read her faithlessness, For the nightingale breaks into lamentations.’
‘One quarter of my life was spent in ignorance, One quarter of it was spent thou knowest how, One quarter of it was spent in folly and idleness, And one quarter was spent in grief and repentance.’
My heart is wounded in a hundred ways by grief for thy absence; In thy absence I feel that the tumult of the day of resurrection is before me. I draw in my breath, but exhale it not again, For between my lip and my heart are more than a thousand hells.
“ The pigeon brought me thy letter and I live. I should have died Had not that bird of auspicious pinion brought me that letter. I shall write at length to her of Hazmī’s state But where will that careless cypress-like beauty cast an eye on the letter?”
“In the bath I saw Parī Khānum with a face like a fairy, Nay, I saw a spark of fire sitting in the water.”
“From thy theft of my heart and thy subsequent avoidance of me it is clear That the sole object of thy friendship with me was the theft of my heart.”
“The down which sprouts on the rose of my beloved’s cheek Is a violet which sprouts on a bed of tulips.”