1

I was inspired by a lovely queen,
Who granted my mind a beautiful scene.
I found this picture in the rose-garden,
This sight disturbed my gaze, without a pardon:
The grayish, flowing smoke is like a curtain,
Who might be behind it? It is uncertain.
It hides perhaps the face of a beauty,
With misty clouds of locks, swinging with glee.

There is a cigarette within the rose!
The gentle breezes carry its thick smoke.
Who put that cigarette who burns at there?
It's strange, but beauty makes it look so fair;
It's in balance to my adoring eyes;
Nature who is pure meets with smoky sighs.

But what about that rose, who is embraced
By smoke? Those leaves have sorrow's taste.
To reflect upon this, that is my task,
So with curiosity I ask:
Why so sad? Your dewy tears are like silver,
How can you be so sad? I am your lover.
Why so sad, dainty flower of the fresh spring?
You are the queen; the nightingale the king.
You are the lip who does talk to my muse!
You are the pink; the rosy 'gainst the blues.
You are the cup with the wine of my love,
Who goes around with the sign of my love.
Your hue appears upon the face of beauty –
Those glows upon your face – they are so rosy!
Some faces look like roses, who don't harden,
As a matter of fact, like fine rose-gardens.
With your brilliant glows they do compare
The beauties of mankind, who're kind and fair.
Your lovely imagery they did overuse
But oh, alas; I am in love with you,
So, it's hard for me to refrain 'bout roses,
That is what my poetic soul proposes.

2: Autumn and Winter

Now let´s turn our attention to the winter
And autumn, where icy breezes saunter.

O beautiful rose, you wait and you wait,
Till this garden becomes a sunny state.
Your stem does wait patiently, asleep,
The sun won't help that time; your slumber's deep.
The rosebud-lips do open up much slower,
Like each and every fresh and fragrant flower.

And that's the way of fleeting, pretty nature,
It can dispirit, it can enrapture.

3: On the Holy Prophet, peace be upon him

I know a Friend, very dear to my soul,
That Rose – without a crime my heart he stole.
With love, to him this piece I dedicate,
The pearly Rose who's in the purest state:
I wish I had rose-leaves to write upon,
To show, to proof to him; for him my love.
So that marks of my writing will release
The scent who lies within the fragrant rose.
While dancing in the air, I will blow it
Towards his direction, from me: a poet.
A poet who loves the rose and loves him,
And loves mankind and more within this dream.