Classic Poem

Lo! the early Spring has come, I apart from my beloved one,
Alas! Alas! Alas! without my sweet-heart goes the Spring-tide:
Weep the Peaks and Mountains o'er the lot of parted lovers,
No snow-born torrents those which now dash from rocky heights.
It is the fire of wounded hearts which now kindles mountain forests,
See the deep brown clouds of smoke which arise from Pine and Fir.
Wouldst thou know the lot of lovers whom separation has divided?
See the Crane who from the flock bewildered wanders.
No such sad complaints are heard as are those of separation;
Come, and list with me to the strains of bard and minstrel.
No solace for my grief: far from that day each day adds to it;
Quickly come, my healer, lest I die, for Heaven's sake!
The death of those that rival is fresh life to those that love:
By God! I swear these two things take place at the time of meeting.
What though yet my breath remain, I am counted midst the living;
The illness that is incurable, what hope is there for the sick?
Human beings none are round me, but the wild beasts of the forest;
Thus no fear have they of the groans of the distressed.
Such the grief and pain that I, Khush-hal, for thee have suffered,
That whether friend or stranger, no one looks at me for scorn.