THE QUATRAINS OF
That pearl is from a mine unknown to thee,
That ruby bears a stamp thou can'st not see,
The tale of love some other tongue must tell,
All our conjectures are mere phantasy.
Now with its joyful prime my age is rife,
I quaff enchanting wine, and list to fife;
Chide not at wine for all its bitter taste
Its bitterness sorts well with human life!
O soul! whose lot it is to bleed with pain,
And daily change of fortune to sustain,
Into this body wherefore didst thou come,
Seeing thou must at last go forth again?
27. Bl. L. N. Káni, Yá i batní. Bl., Pros. 7. or, perhaps, yá i tankír. See note to No. 373. Meaning, real love of God differs from the popular idea of it. Bl.
28. Bl. C. L. N. A. B. I. J. Bl. notes "Regarding the tashdíd on jawání, see my Prosody, p. 11."
29. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J.