VIII: Since, like the reed-pen, I have my head…

Since, like the reed-pen, I have my head resigned,
I am now in search of these fair and charming ones.

This fire is from the glances of those bright eyes of thine,
Whereby I am burnt as black as those their dark lashes.

From the time when my heart became the home of these brunettes,
Behold me! I am, as it were, a new Hindustan grown!

I vow by the hundred-times-rent vitals of the comb,
That I am more disordered even than the curls, in grief for thee!

From terror of the autumn, I am unable to look upon the rose:
I am shaking in this flower-garden, like the willow unto.

Though my flight is in the air; yet I was not released:
I am still of that graceful cypress the neck-enchained slave.

Like unto dust she carried me away, and showed no concern:
Of such a fiery steed as this, the attached skirt-holder am I.

With Indian requital, such acts she practiseth on me--
Me, Shaida! who in heart am a poor simple Afghan of Roh.