 And Ode, by Tahere, translated by Edward G. Brown, read for LibriVox.org, by Adip Maasumyan. The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity, these broken-hearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand, with intent to slay though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant swim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me. And in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the morn I seem to see, the musk of caddy might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain, attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you who condemn both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangled curls of thy darling's hair and thy saddlin' steed are thy only care, in thy heart the absolute ethno-share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Secandar's pump and display be thine, naqalandar's habit and way be mine, that if it pleases thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home non-entity, for when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity. The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity, these broken-hearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee, though withsword in hand my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant swim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face the dawn of the morn I seem to see. The musk of Cathay my perfume gain, from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you who contend both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do? For our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy. The tangled curls of thy darling's hair and thy saddle and steed are thy only care, in thy heart the absolute hath no share nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Secanders pomp and display be thine, the calendar's habit and way be mine. But if it pleases thee, I resign while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home non-entity, for when thou hast done the like of this thou shalt reach the supreme felicity. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Ode by Torhera Translated by Edward G. Brown RedPhilibruvox.org by Corey Samuel The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity, these broken-hearted lovers of thine, to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stan, with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant swim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay, at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the mourn I seemed to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume-gain, from the scent those fragrant tresses reign, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you, who contend both love and wine, for the hermits sell, and the zealots shrine, what can I do, for our faith divine, you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, and thy saddle and steed of thy only care, in thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Secander's pomp and display be thine, the calendar's habit and way be mine, that, if it pleases thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home non-entity, for when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. An Ode by Tarty Day Translated by Edward G. Brown Read for Libby Vox.org by Algy Pug Perth, Western Australia The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity. These broken-hearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee, though with sword in hand my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the morn I seem to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish your faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you who condemn both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangled curls of thy darlings hair, and thy saddle and steed of thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Secundas pomp and display be thine, the Cullandas habit and way be mine. That if it pleases thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home a non-entity, for when there has done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity. End of poem. This recording is in a public domain. An Ode by Tahara, translated by Edward G. Brown, read for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence. The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity. These brokenhearted lovers of thine, to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand, with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant swim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the morn I seem to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain, from the scent those fragrant tresses reign. While his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you who condemn both love and wine, for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine. What can I do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangled curls of thy darling's hair and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Seekend that his pomp and display be thine, the calendar's habit and way be mine. That if it pleases thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. That's from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home, non-entity. For when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. An Ode by Tohera Translated by Edward G. Brown Read for LibriVox.org by James O'Connor February 2010 The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity. These broken-hearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face the dawn of the morn I seem to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain, attacked by the pagans of Tatary. With you who contend both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do, for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangle curls of thy darling's hair, and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. The candor's pomp and display be thine, the calendar's habit and way be mine. That if it pleases thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home non-entity. When thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity. These broken-hearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darlings stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny, as in sleep I lay at the break of day that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face the dawn of the mourn I seem to see, the musk of cafe might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses reign, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of tartary. With you who condemn both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangled curls of thy darlings' hair and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Sikandar's pomp and display be thine, the Chalandar's habit and way be mine, that if it pleases thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home, non-entity, for when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity. These broken-hearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand, my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face the dawn of the morn I seem to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you who condemn both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine. What can I do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangled curls of thy darling's hair and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Secandar's pomp and display be thine, the Calandar's habit and way be mine. But if it pleases thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home non-entity. For when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity. The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity, these broken-hearted lovers of thine, to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay, at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me. And in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the morn I seem to see. The musk of kathay might perfume gain, from the scent those fragrant tresses reign. While his eyes demolish, a faith in vain, attacked by the pagans of tartary. With you who condemn both love and wine, for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine. What can I do for our faith divine, you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangled curls of thy darlings' hair, and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Secandar's pomp and display be thine, the galandar's habit and way be mine. That if it pleases thee, I resign, while this though bad is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home non-entity. For when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A note by Tahiray, translated by Edward G. Brown, read for LibriVex.org by Peace Breeze. The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity. These broken-hearted lovers of thine, to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand would intend to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I'm well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me. And in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the morn, I seemed to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the sand, those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain, attacked by the pagans of tartary. With you, contempt, both love and wine, for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangled curls of thy darling's hair and thy saddled and steed are thy only care. In the heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. The candor's pump and display be thine, the calendar's habit and way be mine. That if it pleases thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home non-entity. For when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme velocity. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. See these broken-hearted lovers of thine, to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the mourn I seem to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a face in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you who contend both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zeal at Shrine, what can I do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Like Andar's pomp and display design, the call Andar's habit and way be mine. That if it pleases thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home non-entity. For when thou has done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. An Ode by Tahiri, translated by Edward G. Brown, read for Librivox by Romaine Takenberg. The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity these broken-hearted lovers of thine, to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be, if it pleases him, this tyrant swim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face the dawn of the morn I seemed to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain, from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tahiri. With you, who can tempt both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine? What can I do? For our faith divine, you hold as a thing of infamy. The tangled curls of thy darlings hair, and thy saddle and steed are thy only care, in thy heart the absolute ethno-shell, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Secunders pomp and display be thine, the colander's habit and way be mine, that if it pleases thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home, non-entity, for when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. An Ode by Tahiri, translated by Edward G. Bram, read for LibriVox.org by Raven Notation. The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity. These broken-hearted lovers of thine, to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darlings stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me. And in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the mourn I seemed to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses reign, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain, attacked by the pagans of Tartare. With you, who contend both love and wine, for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangled curls of thy darlings' hair, and thy saddle and steed, are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Secandar as pomp and display be thine, the garlander's habit and way be mine, that if it pleases thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Ask from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home, non-entity. For when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.