The day doth lie,
When ne’er again this heart of mine

Away will fly? 
And e’en though fled (what thought divine!)

Would near me lie?—­
On the soft couch, on whose sweet shrine

My heart near hers will lie!

1816.
-----
Hatem.

Hold me, locks, securely caught

In the circle of her face! 
Dear brown serpents, I have nought

To repay this act of grace,

Save a heart whose love ne’er dies,

Throbbing with aye-youthful glow;
For a raging eta lies

’Neath its veil of mist and snow.

Yonder mountain’s stately brow

Thou, like morning beams, dost shame;
Once again feels Hatem now

Spring’s soft breath and summer’s flame.

One more bumper!  Fill the glass;

This last cup I pledge to thee!—­
By mine ashes if she pass,

“He consumed,” she’ll say, “for me.”

1815.
-----
The loving one speaks.

And wherefore sends not
The horseman-captain
His heralds hither

Each day, unfailing? 
Yet hath he horses,
He writes well.

He waiteth Tali,
And Neski knows he
To write with beauty
On silken tablets. 
I’d deem him present,
Had I his words.

The sick One will not,
Will not recover
From her sweet sorrow;
She, when she heareth
That her true lover
Grows well, falls sick.

1819.*
-----
The loving one again.

Writes he in Neski,
Faithfully speaks he;
Writes he in Tali,
Joy to give, seeks he: 
Writes he in either,
Good!—­for he loves!

1819.*
-----
These tufted branches fair

Observe, my loved one, well! 
And see the fruits they bear

In green and prickly shell!

They’ve hung roll’d up, till now,

Unconsciously and still;
A loosely-waving bough

Doth rock them at its will.

Yet, ripening from within.

The kernel brown swells fast;
It seeks the air to win,

It seeks the sun at last.

With joy it bursts its thrall,

The shell must needs give way. 
’Tis thus my numbers fall

Before thy feet, each day.

1815.
-----
Suleika.

What is by this stir reveal’d?

Doth the East glad tidings bring? 
For my heart’s deep wounds are heal’d

By his mild and cooling wing.

He the dust with sports doth meet,

And in gentle cloudlets chase;
To the vineleaf’s safe retreat

Drives the insects’ happy race,

Cools these burning cheeks of mine,

Checks the sun’s fierce glow Adam,
Kisses, as he flies, the vine,

Flaunting over hill and plain.

And his whispers soft convey