I Asked My Love

I asked my love: "Why do you make yourself so beautiful?"
                "To please myself.
I am the eye, the mirror, and the loveliness;
The loved one and the lover and the love."

From the Persian of Abu-Said (978-1062).

Edward Powys Mathers

Edward Powys Mathers was an English translator and poet, best known for translating the French Orientalist J.C. Mardrus's translation of 'The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night' in 1923. In addition to translations, Powys Mathers was an influential figure in the realm of cryptic crosswords, devising some of the most challenging puzzles for 'The Observer'. His translations have been lauded for their literary beauty and for introducing English-speaking audiences to classic Persian, Arabic, and Turkish poetry.

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All That Love Asks

    "All that I ask," says Love, "is just to stand
And gaze, unchided, deep in thy dear eyes;
For in their depths lies largest Paradise.
    Yet, if perchance one pressure of thy hand
Be granted me, then joy I thought complete
    Were still more sweet."

    "All that I ask," says Love, "all that I ask,
Is just thy hand clasp. Could I brush thy cheek
As zephyrs brush a rose leaf, words are weak
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There is no language but would desecrate
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    "All that I ask, is just one tender touch
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All That Love Asks

    "All that I ask," says Love, "is just to stand
    And gaze, unchided, deep in thy dear eyes;
    For in their depths lies largest Paradise.
Yet, if perchance one pressure of thy hand
    Be granted me, then joy I thought complete
    Were still more sweet.

    "All that I ask," says Love, "all that I ask,
    Is just thy hand-clasp.    Could I brush thy cheek
    As zephyrs brush a rose leaf, words are weak
To tell the bliss in which my soul would bask.
    There is no language but would desecrate
    A joy so great.

    "All that I ask, is just one tender touch
    Of that soft cheek.    Thy pulsing palm in mine,
    Thy dark eyes lifted in a trust divine,
And those curled lips that tempt me overmuch
    Turned where I may not seize the supre...

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To - .

Yet look on me - take not thine eyes away,
Which feed upon the love within mine own,
Which is indeed but the reflected ray
Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown.
Yet speak to me - thy voice is as the tone
Of my heart's echo, and I think I hear
That thou yet lovest me; yet thou alone
Like one before a mirror, without care
Of aught but thine own features, imaged there;

And yet I wear out life in watching thee;
A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeed
Art kind when I am sick, and pity me...

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My Love (Do Not Ask Me)

Do not ask me, the name of my love
I fear for you, from the fragrance of perfume
contained in a bottle, if you smashed it,
drowning you, in spilled scent

By God, if you even croaked a letter,
Lilacs would pile up on the paths

Do not look for it here in my chest
I have left it to run with the sunset

You can see it in the laughter of doves
In the flutter of butterflies
In the ocean, in the breathing of dales
and in the song of every nightingale
in the tears of winter, when winter cries
in the giving of a generous cloud

Do not ask about his lips...as elegant as the sunset
And his eyes, a shore of purity
And his waist, the sway of a branch
Charms...which no book has contained
Nor described by a literate's feather
And his ches...

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Lovers

Why should I ask perfection of thee, sweet,
That have so little of mine own to bring?
That thou art beautiful from head to feet -
Is that, beloved, such a little thing,
That I should ask more of thee, and should fling
Thy largesse from me, in a world like this,
O generous giver of thy perfect kiss?

Thou gavest me thy lips, thine eyes, thine hair;
I brought thee worship - was it not thy due?
If thou art cruel - still art thou not fair?
Roses thou gavest - shalt thou not bring rue?
Alas! have I not brought thee sorrow too?
How dare I face the future and its drouth,
Missing that golden honeycomb thy mouth?

Kiss and make up - 'tis the wise ancient way;
Back to my arms, O bountiful deep breast!
No more of words that know not what they say;
To kiss ...

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Paradise

Paradise, my darling, know that paradise,
The Prophet-given paradise after death,
Is far and very mysterious and most high;
My habits would be upset in such a place.

Without impiety, I should be mortally weary
If I went there alone, without my wife;
An ugly crowding of inferior females,
What should I do with the houris?

What should I do with those tall loaded fruit-trees,
Seeing I could not give the fruit to you?
What by the freshness of those blue streams,
Seeing my face reflected there alone?

And it might be worse if you came with me,
For all of Allah's Chosen would desire you.
And if Mahomet threw his handkerchief
And took you up and loved you for himself?

Eyes of my eyes, how could I then defend you?
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