XCIII: Wherever thou reclinest, that place a parterre of…

Wherever thou reclinest, that place a parterre of flowers becometh
When thou in the mead roamest, the breast of the tulip is scarred.

When the sable locks about thy fair face, the zephyr disheveleth,
The fragrance of musk and amber is diffused in every brain.

Since, in thy tresses, my heart is lost, show thou thy face to me;
For in night's gloom, lost things are, with lighted lamp, sought for.

Equal to that deliciousness, which I have, from thy lips, imbibed;
Term me a liar if such, as luscious, be in the wine-cup found.

Bear, O zephyr unto the nightingale, this message of mine--
"The rose's fragrance or its trace, in this parterre, will, doubtless, be."

For one moment, at least, sit thou with Khushhal in tranquillity,
That his heart may, from its heavy sorrows, some slight solace find!