"In Farsistan the violet spreads
Its leaves to the rival sky,--
I ask, How far is the Tigris flood,
And the vine that grows thereby?
"Except the amber morning wind,
Not one saluted me here;
There is no man in all Bagdad
To offer the exile cheer.
"I know that thou, O morning wind,
O'er Kerman's meadow blowest,
And thou, heart-warming nightingale,
My father's orchard knowest.
"Oh, why did partial Fortune
From that bright land banish me?
So long as I wait in Bagdad,
The Tigris is all I see.
"The merchant hath stuffs of price,
And gems from the sea-washed strand,
And princes offer me grace
To stay in the Syrian land:
"But what is gold for but for gifts?
And dark without love is the day;
And all that I see in Bagdad
Is the Tigris to float me away."