Book in this metre
This page shows only poems in the metre مستفعلن مستفعلن مستفعلن مستفعلن (رجز مثمن سالم).
The springtide of lovers has come, that this dust bowl may become a garden; the proclamation of heaven has come, that the bird of the soul may rise in flight.
A sour-faced one has come—perchance is he the bitter winter cold? Pour a winecup over his head, saki, sweet as sugar.
This time I am wholly involved in loverhood, this time I am wholly cut off from well-being.
Yesterday my darling placed a golden crown on my head; however many blows you may strike, it will not fall from my head.
Stealthily as the soul, you are going in the midst of my soul; O luster of my garden, you are my gracefully moving cypress.
Lovers, lovers, it is time to migrate from the world; the drum of departure is reaching my spirit’s ear from heaven.