Archive for February 18th, 2020

Tuesday, 18 February 2020

In Praise of Her Own Beauty by Zeb-un-Nissa

When from my cheek I lift my veil,
The roses turn with envy pale,
⁠And from their pierced hearts, rich with pain,
Send forth their fragrance like a wail.

Or if perchance one perfumed tress
Be lowered to the wind’s caress,
⁠The honeyed hyacinths complain,
And languish in a sweet distress.

And, when I pause, still groves among,
(Such loveliness is mine) a throng
⁠Of nightingales awake and strain
Their souls into a quivering song.


Date: ?1690 (original in Persian); 1905 (translation in English)

By: Zeb-un-Nissa (1638-1702)

Translated by: Sarojini Chattopadhyay Naidu (1879-1949)