No friend in the world entire thou wilt find
Sincere in solicitude
Go, lose thyself in thy self, and mind
The honour of loverhood.

I am grieved, that He Who created us
In rapture to be displayed
Hath concealed the infinite various
Manners of that His trade.

None but Ayaz alone doth know
This subtle and secret truth,
How the Ghaznavid’s love augmented so
His poor slave’s anguish and ruth.

Less than a grassblade, in my view,
The knowledge and vision vast
That the trusty sword and the buckler true
From the hand of the warrior cast.

Whatever the price of these goods,
‘tis well And profit will yield, not harm,
Razi’s intelligence to sell
For the power of Haider’s arm.

If there is a drop of blood in thy vein,
A flutter to storm the height,
Come, learn with me the way to attain
The falcon’s ascending flight.

If fluting thou thinkst is but taking breath,
How little truth thou hast guessed;
The minstrel his skill accomplisheth
With the point of the sword in his breast!