From the Turning of the Sphere My Luck

From the turning of the Sphere my luck hath seen reverse and woe;
Blood I've drunk, for from my banquet wine arose and forth did go.

With the flame, my burning sighs, I've lit the wand'ring wildered heart;
I'm a fire, doth not all that which turns about me roasted glow?

With thy rubies wine contended — oh! how it hath lost its wits!
Need 'tis yon ill-mannered wretch's company that we forego.

Yonder Moon saw not my burning's flame upon the parting day —
How can e'er the sun about the taper all night burning know?

Every eye that all around tears scatters, thinking of thy shaft,
Is an oyster-shell that causeth rain-drops into pearls to grow.

Forms my sighing's smoke a cloud that veils the bright cheek of the moon;
Ah! that yon fair Moon will ne'er the veil from off her beauty throw!

Ne'er hath ceased the rival e'en within her ward to vex me sore;
How say they, Fuzûlî: "There's in Paradise nor grief nor woe"?