From The Persian Of Kermani 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 Salutes Me Here; There Is No Lover In All Bagdat To Offer The Exile Cheer. I Know That Thou, O Morning Wind! O'Er Kernan'S Meadow Blowest, And Thou, Heart-Warming Nightingale! My Father'S Orchard Knowest. 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 Bagdat Is The Tigris To Float Me Away.