To a Lady Weeping

When I beheld thy blue eyes shine

Through the bright drop that pity drew,

I saw beneath those tears of thine

A blue-eyed violet bathed in dew.

The violet ever scents the gale,

Its hues adorn the fairest wreath,

But sweetest through a dewy veil

Its colors glow, its odors breathe.

And thus thy charms in brightness rise---

When wit and pleasure round thee play,

When mirth sits smiling in thine eyes,

Who but admires their sprightly ray?

But when through pity's flood they gleam,

Who but must love their softened beam?

Ibn Al Rumi