It's compelling beauty makes all men
Enjoy the glory of the bloom;
But the eye should take in every view,
The brighter shades, the shades of gloom.
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Although love's pangs may fatal be,
There can be no way out
Without love too this heart would grieve
For want of things to grieve about.
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To whom, alas, shall I complain
If luck with me does not abide?
"O, give me death" was all I sought,
That blessing too I was denied.
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Ask me not why I am sad,
What grief doth clutch my heart.
My heart hath built me a prison-cell
And raised grim walls of narrow truths,
Of cramping loves and hates.
It shuts in the horizon of my thought
And clips my fancy's wings.
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Love has left me, O Ghalib, a good-for-nothing,
Otherwise a useful man I was.
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