Book in this metre
This page shows only poems in the metre فاعلاتن فاعلاتن فاعلاتن فاعلن (رمل مثمن محذوف).
Tumultuous Love where’er it rove unto Thy street is brought; what boasteth he who findeth Thee that for himself he sought?
Out of Hijaz and the lonely plain the Guide of the Time is come, back from the far, far vale again the Caravan hastens home.
Either do not tell the Muslim to put his life at risk, or else breathe a new soul into this worn-out frame. Do one thing or the other!
Intellect is passion too, and it knows the joy to view, but the poor unfortunate dares not as the inebriate.
A melody swept me through and through and nobody knew; the air and the note is all they know: The high and low.
I am a blossom of the plain; carry me back from the avenue to mountain and wilderness again where air’s to breathe, and the vast to view.
Of the hirelings’s blood outpoured, lustrous rubies makes the lord; tyrant squire to swell his wealth desolates the peasant’s tillth.
Although the soul, I know, one day unveiled shall be, think not it shall be so by writhing endlessly.
Love went searching thro’ the earth until Adam came to birth; out of water, out of clay manifested his display.
I boast a love that is not grieved by being of To Be bereaved, whose infidelity doth ne’er the girdle of existence wear.
The Saqi, pouring his pure wine upon my restless heart converts this quicksilver of mine to gold, by magic art.
Ah, the wine, the lute, the piping, the dear memories of old, when I held the brimming beaker and my friend a bowl of gold.
Lord, who didst bring the stars to birth, look down upon my scattered earth; the atom doth itself enfold; this boundless wilderness behold.
Like a tulip’s flame I burn in your presence as I turn; by my life, and yours, I swear youth of Persia ever fair!
In the mead a tulip blows in whose breast no yearning glows, a narcissus, languid too, yet it lacked the eye to view.
