V: In such wise have the fair made away…

In such wise have the fair made away with my heart,
As if, indeed, it had never, at any time, been mine own.

Though I summon back, this stag-eye captured heart;
Yet, like the deer, it heedeth not any calling of mine.

Whereas my beloved inflicteth one wound upon another,
The medicine-chest of the physician is useless unto me.

Since thoughts of the rosy-cheeked, are the light of my eye,
It is objectionable, unto the rose, this gazing of mine.

Whatever part shall be found, free from headaches for the fair,
There's the befitting spot where my head should be smitten.

Whether I die or live, my head is laid at the portal of the beloved;
Save that threshold, there is no other place of existence for me.

Should I draw the whole of the world's beauties to my side,
I could not derive from another, the good I gain from thee.

There cannot exist between any lover and his beloved,
Such cruel treatment as thine, and endurance like mine.

If other folks groan under the tyranny of the Mughals,
The Almighty hath made my grief for thee, the Mughal to me.

Both the moth and the taper have often consumed themselves;
But they have no conception, O Hamid, of this consuming of thine!