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LIFE passes by, a caravan of shadows,

Leaving no track or voice upon its way;

Only the torch of beauty, where it flashes,

Spreads in the world disaster and dismay.

Ah, the long months I followed after Mahmil,

In the dim desert guideless and astray;

Spring changed to autumn. Never on the rose-branch

Carolled my heart-bird an enraptured lay.

Farhad, his pick amid the mountains plying,

Drew from the rock a sigh at every stroke;

Makhfi, for all the flames her heart is flinging,

Sees not arise an answering wreath of smoke.