| SO tyrannous thine eyes, |
| Even the morning breeze is hot with wrath, |
| No soft assuagement in its breath it hath, |
| It only faints and dies. |
| Like Khizr, strong and fair, |
| Whose soul is steeped in the immortal spring, |
| The well of life, thou shalt be worshipping |
| With holy words of prayer. |
| Born to the Khalif’s place, |
| None other heired such high estate as thine, |
| Thou hast the beauty that is all divine, |
| Fairer than peri’s grace. |
| From hope I turned in hate; |
| No further now false hope can cozen me. |
| I know the cruel Heavens conspired with thee |
| To darken thus my fate. |
| Makhfi, thy life flows fast, |
| The days from out thy hand drop evermore; |
| O turn no weary traveller from thy door, |
| Give him what cheer thou hast. |