WHILE he is mark'd by vision clear
Who fathoms Nature's treasures,
The man may follow, void of fea
WHAT makes time short to me?
What makes it long and spiritless?
ONCE, methought, in the night hours cold,
That I saw the moon in my sleep;
But as soon as I wake
ALL kinds of men, both small and great,
A fine-spun web delight to create,
And in the middle they
ZEPHYR, for thy humid wing,
Oh, how much I envy thee!
Thou to him canst tidings bring
WHEN the vine again is blowing,
Then the wine moves in the cask;
When the rose again is glowing
OVER the meadows, and down the stream,
And through the garden-walks straying,
He plucks the flow
LOVE for love, and moments sweet,
Lips returning kiss for kiss,
Word for word, and eyes that mee
THE mason's trade Observe them well,
Resembles life, And watch them revealing
With all its str
FITTING perfumes to prepare,
And to raise thy rapture high,
Must a thousand rosebuds fair
WHY pacest thou, my neighbour fair,
The garden all alone?
If house and land thou seek'st to guar
FOR woman due allowance make!
Form'd of a crooked rib was she,--
By Heaven she could not strai
THE LOVING ONE SPEAKS.
AND wherefore sends not
His heralds hither
NOT occasion makes the thief;
She's the greatest of the whole;
For Love's relics, to my grief,
MODEST men must needs endure,
And the bold must humbly bow;
Thus thy fate's the same, be sure,
WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so
WHEREFORE ever ramble on?
For the Good is lying near,
Fortune learn to seize alone,
IT is a fault oneself to praise,
And yet 'tis done by each whose deeds are kind;
And if there's no
HAFIS, straight to equal thee,
One would strive in vain;
Though a ship with majesty
A PLAN the Muses entertain'd
Methodically to impart
To Psyche the poetic art;
LIST, and in memory bear
These six fond loving pair.
Love, when aroused, kept true
Rustan and Rad
WRITES he in Neski,
Faithfully speaks he;
Writes he in Tali,
Joy to give, seeks he:
Writes he in
Eyes tell, tell me, what you tell me,
telling something all too sweet,
making music out of beauty,
WEEP, maiden, weep here o'er the tomb of Love;
He died of nothing--by mere chance was slain.
THESE tufted branches fair
Observe, my loved one, well!
And see the fruits they bear
WHEN by the broad stream thou dost dwell,
Oft shallow is its sluggish flood;
Then, when thy fiel
CALL on the present day and night for nought,
Save what by yesterday was brought.
THE sea i
IN the small and great world too,
What most charms a woman's heart?
It is doubtless
THE father's name ye ne'er shall be told
Of my darling unborn life;
"Shame, shame," ye cry, "on
LOVE is indeed a glorious prize!
What fairer guerdon meets our eyes?--
Though neither wealth nor p