Come near, my life’s companion. Come near to me, and do not let the icy breaths separate our two bodies. Sit beside me before the hearth, for fire is the sweetest fruit of winter. Tell me stories of bygone times, for my ears weary of the wind’s sighs and the keening of the elements. Bolt the doors and windows, for the sight of angry weather saddens my soul and the sight of the town, sitting like a bereaved mother beneath layers of ice, oppresses my heart. . . Fill the lamp with oil, O my life’s companion, for it burns low. Place it near me so I can see what the nights have written on your face.

Bring a jug of wine for us to drink, and we will remember the days when it was pressed.

Come, come near to me, beloved of my soul, for the fire has burned down and the ashes cover it. Embrace me, for the lamp has gone out and darkness presses in. Our eyes have grown heavy with the wine of years. Look on me with eyes shadowed with sleep. Embrace me before slumber embraces me. Kiss me, for the ice has conquered all but your kiss. And oh, my beloved, how deep is the sea of sleep, how far distant is the morning. . . in this world!

IN A YEAR UNRECORDED IN HISTORY

IN A YEAR UNRECORDED IN HISTORY

In the shade of the walnut and willow trees, the peasant’s son sat on the riverbank watching the water flow slowly and silently past. He was a youth educated in the fields, where everything spoke of love—where trees embraced, where flowers reached out to each other, where birds sang of their love, where nature in its entirety preached the spirit. He was twenty years old. Yesterday he had seen a girl sitting among the young women at the spring and had fallen in love with her. But then he had learned that she was the daughter of the Emir, and he had reproached his heart, and his soul complained to itself within him. Yet complaint does not turn the heart from love, nor does rebuke turn the soul away from reality. Man caught between his heart and soul is like a thin branch whipping between the north wind and the south.

The youth saw a violet growing near a daisy. He heard a nightingale singing to a thrush, and he wept in his loneliness. The hours of his love passed before his eyes like phantoms. His emotions poured out with his words and his tears: