XXII: Since, like the sun, thou art the possessor…

Since, like the sun, thou art the possessor of gold and silver,
Why art thou standing, every morning, at the door of others?

As with the candle, no one for my redemption endeavoureth;
And thou, like the snuffers, art a seeker after my head.

As doth shadow on the sun's setting, follow the eyes' dark shade,
If thou, for a pretty one, with sunny face, a candidate art!

By the slaughter of whom wilt thou, of roseate hue, thy garment dye,
That, to-day again, thy waist, like the rose-bud's, is girded?

Like unto mince-meat, wound after wound I receive;
Then, wherefore art thou of my state and my case unaware?

Thou didst depart like the bubble on the back of the flood
Than myself, O my home! a greater wanderer art thou!

Thou beautiful brunette! O thou of figure so graceful!
The straight and verdant pine, of whose grove art thou?

If in adversity thou bendest not thine head unto any one,
In the loftiness of thy spirit, like a dark beetling mountain art thou.

O Shaida! thou art that parrot with Indian disposition endowed,
That art with the confection of thine own words' roses content.