XXVIII: Would to heaven that I were the dust…

Would to heaven that I were the dust and ashes at thy door!
Would that thy foot were, for ever, placed upon my head!

By all means, let thee and me meet face to face;
Then let my breast be the target for thine arrows!

Let my whole body, like antimony, be ground to powder;
For then, at least, one glance of thy dark eyes will be mine.

Were the society of the fair dependent on gold or silver,
I had acquired it, by my sallowness, and my silvery tears.

Wherefore, indeed, had reproaches been uttered against me,
If any one had been aware of thy heart-ravishing ways?

Should I tell them of the dignity thy love hath brought me,
The angels, all, would cry, "O that we were human too!"

If I were the heart-ravisher, and thou, like me, the heart-ravished,
The spectacle of my condition would then be manifest to thee.

It will not be equal unto the bloody torrent from mine eyes,
Though one's face, all over, might sharp sword-gashes bear.

O that I were the nightingale, or the zephyr of the morn,
That my path might lie amongst thy fragrant bowers!

'Midst the agonies endured for thee, to Rahman, the physician saith--
"Thou wouldst be better were thy state even worse than it is."