Questionings

The nurse beheld her thus ill at ease,
And questioned her lady in words like these :
“ Sweet, to whose eye all its light mine eye owes,
The flush of whose cheek makes my heart like the rose,
Isee thee bowed down with a burthen of care,
And I know not the source of thy secret despair.
Thou art ever near to thy heart’s desire ;
Then why art thou troubled, thy bosom on fire ?
Noth, word to blame thine unrest could I say
In the time when thy darling was far away.
Wilt thou trouble thy heart in a time like this,
And consume thy sad soul when assured of thy bliss ?
Where is the lover, supremely blest,
Whom his darling serves when he gives behest ?
And happy in truth is the star that gave
The lord of thy bosom to thee for a slave.
A moon most worthy of kingly sway — -
What wouldst thou more ? — Must thy will obey.
Go, look on his face and be happy and free
From, all earthly sorrows that trouble thee.
Gaze on the cypress and watch in thy joy
The graceful step of the blooming boy.
Look on his lip, .take thy solace with him,
And the cup of delight shall be full to the brim.”
Zulaikha heard the advice of the dame,
And blood from her heart in her hot tears came,
Poured out like rain from the cloud of her eye,
As thus her sad story she told in reply :
“ Is the secret that weighs on this breast, mine own
Dear mother, still to thy heart unknown ?
Hast thou not seen what my life has to, hear
From that soul of the world — all my grief and
He waits and serves in my presence, but still
He is deaf to each hint of his lady’s will.
He is ever near me and comes at my call,
But never on me will his glances fall.
Well may the thirsty complain in their woe
With parched lips on the bank where the sweet waters flow.
When the torch of my beauty to lure him burns,
His heedless eye on his foot he turns.
'Hot for this can I blame him: I fain would confess
That his foot shames my cheek in its loveliness.
When on him lights mine eye which beholds the world.
His brow is contracted, his lip is curled.
Yet his frown has a charm : can I blame him for this,
When of all that he does, naught is e’er done amiss ?
There are knots in my heart from the arch of his brow,
And my life is all knot and perplexity now,
While the knots that have bound all my acts in their ties
Restrain me from resting mine eyes on his eyes.
When to me he closes his mouth’s sweet bud,
What is my gain, but to drink my heart’s blood ?
My mouth may water for that red rose,
But mine eye has no water — ’tis blood that flows.
That tender sapling for which I pine —
When will it in mercy to me incline ?
I would pluck the fair fruit, and a cloud I see
Of woes if I leave the sweet fruit on the tree.
Would I joy in the dimple of that soft chin ?
’Tis a well of woe that he leaves me in.
I envy the sleeve of my darling’s dress,
For still on that arm it may tenderly press.
The bliss of his skirt is my torture : how sweet,
To kiss the dust pressed by his delicate feet ! ”
'Weeping the nurse gave her answer : “ How
Can one live in the sorrow that weighs on thee now
Better is absence from all that is dear
Than in sorrow and bitterness thus to be near.
One deep pang at parting the bosom may rend,
But meetings like these must be woe without end.”