There was a monarch once who loved a slave.
The youth's pale beauty haunted him; he gave
This favourite the rarest ornaments,
Watched over him with jealous reverence-
But when the king expressed a wish to shoot,
His loved one shook with fear from head to foot.
An apple balanced on his head would be
The target for the royal archery,
And as the mark was split he blenched with fear.
One day a foolish courtier standing near
Asked why his lovely face was drained and wan,
For was he not their monarch's chosen one?
The slave replied: "If I were hit instead
Of that round apple balanced on my head,
I would be then quite worthless to the king-
Injured or dead, lower than anything
The court can show; but when the arrow hits
The trembling target and the apple splits,
That is his skill.The king is highly skilled
If he succeed-if not, the slave is killed!"
ATTAR
No comments:
Post a Comment