By strains I sing at early morn, the vest of tulip has been torn. Breeze has been roaming since the dark, but has not found a single park.

In Raza Shah or Mustafa Kamal, no trace of it is found at all. East's soul is seeking body sound, but such a body has not found.

My Self deserves correction dire. To set it right and sound entire: The world harbours this evil hope; to hang me seeks a plank and rope.