“Once flies he upward, he will perch
    On Tuba’s golden bough;
  His home is on that fruited arch
    Which cools the blest below.

  “If over this world of ours
    His wings my phoenix spread,
  How gracious falls on land and sea
    The soul refreshing shade!

  “Either world inhabits he,
    Sees oft below him planets roll;
  His body is all of air compact,
    Of Allah’s love his soul.”

Here is an ode which is said to be a favorite with all educated
Persians:—­

  “Come!—­the palace of heaven rests on aery pillars,—­
  Come, and bring me wine; our days are wind. 
  I declare myself the slave of that masculine soul
  Which ties and alliance on earth once forever renounces. 
  Told I thee yester-morn how the Iris of heaven
  Brought to me in my cup a gospel of joy? 
  O high-flying falcon! the Tree of Life is thy perch;
  This nook of grief fits thee ill for a nest. 
  Hearken! they call to thee down from the ramparts of heaven;
  I cannot divine what holds thee here in a net. 
  I, too, have a counsel for thee; oh, mark it and keep it,
  Since I received the same from the Master above: 
  Seek not for faith or for truth in a world of light-minded girls;
  A thousand suitors reckons this dangerous bride. 
  This jest [of the world], which tickles me, leave to my vagabond self. 
  Accept whatever befalls; uncover thy brow from thy locks;
  Neither to me nor to thee was option imparted;
  Neither endurance nor truth belongs to the laugh of the rose. 
  The loving nightingale mourns;—­cause enow for mourning;—­
  Why envies the bird the streaming verses of Hafiz? 
  Know that a god bestowed on him eloquent speech.”

Here is a little epitaph that might have come from Simonides:—­

  “Bethink, poor heart, what bitter kind of jest
    Mad Destiny this tender stripling played: 
  For a warm breast of ivory to his breast,
    She laid a slab of marble on his head.”

The cedar, the cypress, the palm, the olive, and fig-tree, and the birds that inhabit them, and the garden flowers, are never wanting in these musky verses, and are always named with effect.  “The willows,” he says, “bow themselves to every wind, out of shame for their unfruitfulness.”  We may open anywhere on a floral catalogue.

  “By breath of beds of roses drawn,
    I found the grove in the morning pure,
  In the concert of the nightingales
    My drunken brain to cure.

  “With unrelated glance
    I looked the rose in the eye;
  The rose in the hour of gloaming
    Flamed like a lamp hard-by.

  “She was of her beauty proud,
    And prouder of her youth,
  The while unto her flaming heart
    The bulbul gave his truth.

  “The sweet narcissus closed
    Its eye, with passion pressed;
  The tulips out of envy burned
    Moles in their scarlet breast.