To tell about three beauties I shall try.
For you should know they grace the earth and sky.
This pen of mine, kept warm by earthly heat.
Will try to sketch these beauties you should meet.
The deathless days, the great events, those things
That have inspired and lent my spirit wings.
Three grand occasions of the East, and all
Have left a deep impression on my soul.
Although this tale is short, it is at least
As ancient as the yashmak of the East,
That horsehair veil, yashmak that left no room
For living youth, a winding-sheet, a tomb.
O mother, daughter, sister and the bride,
Why should a veil your gentle features hide?
How can one live and in the Spring not see
The bright renewal, burgeoning and free?
The veil, while glorifying ancient things.
Hid from the East the glory that is Spring's.
The veil, like some black threat'ning thundercloud
Would hide Spring's virgin face as in a shroud.
O Asiatic woman, you were born
As lovely as an early springtide dawn.
Captivity drove beauty from your face.
Your youthful body lost its strength and grace.
The world became as lifeless as a grave
Wherever you were bound and made a slave.
To your great beauty perfect verse was penned
And songs to you resounded without end.
With what could men your form and grace compare?
No slim and supple cypress was as fair.
Your lips were blood-red petals, warm their glow.
Your crescent brows outshone the new Moon's bow;
But you could never hear that fulsome praise,
For veils had kept you captive all your days.
To scholars of great learning you gave birth,
To warriors and men of Stirling worth,
But you, whom men had praised for ages past,
Alive into a ghastly grave were cast.
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