Chapters 13
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1 An Ode - Read by AM 1:53
An Ode by Tahereh.
The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity, these brokenhearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand, with intent to slay, though I sinless be, If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me. And in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the morn I seem to see. The musk of Cathy might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you, Who contemn both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine.
What can I do? For our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy. The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, and thy saddle and steed, are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Sekandar's pomp and display be thine, Ngalandar's habit and way be mine. That, if it please thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home nonentity, for when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.
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2 An Ode - read by Craig Allen 1:56
The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity these brokenhearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee, though with sword in hand, my darling, stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face the dawn of the morn I seem to see. The musk of cathay my perfume gain, from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you, who contemn both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do?
For our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy. The tangled curls of thy darling's hair and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Sicaner's pomp and display be thine, the calendar's habit and way be mine. That, if it please thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home nonentity, for when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.
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3 An Ode - Read by CS 2:06
The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity these broken-hearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darlings stand, with intent to slay, though I sinless be, If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny.
As in sleep I lay, at the break of day, That cruel charmer came to me, And in the grace of his form and face, The dawn of the morn I seemed to see. The musk of cathay might perfume gain From the scent those fragrant tresses rain, While his eyes demolish a faith In vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you, who contemn both love and wine, For the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, What can I do? For our faith divine You hold as a thing of infamy. The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, And thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share. Nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Sikander's pomp and display be thine, The calendar's habit and way be mine, That, if it please thee, I resign, While this, though bad, is enough for me.
Pass from the station of I and we, And choose for thy home nonentity, For when thou hast done the like of this, Thou shalt reach, The supreme felicity.
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4 An Ode - Read by DGD 1:55
An Ode by Tarrideh, translated by Edward G. Brown, read for Libivox.org, by Algy Pug, Perth, Western Australia. The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity. These broken-hearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darlings stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay, at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the morn I seemed to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary.
With you, who condemn both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do? For our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy. The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Sir Conda's pomp and display be thine. The calendar's habit and way be mine. That, if it please thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home nonentity. For when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.
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5 An Ode - Read by DL 1:55
The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity. These brokenhearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand, with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay, at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the morn I seemed to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you who contemn both love and wine, for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine.
What can I do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Seek in that is pomp, and display be thine. The calendar's habit, And way be mine. That, if it please thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home nonentity. For when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.
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6 An Ode - Read by JOC 2:13
An Ode by Toheret.
Translated by Edward G. Brown. Read for LibriVox. Dot org by James O'Connor. February, two thousand ten.
The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity. These brokenhearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face the dawn of the morn I seem to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain, attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you who contemn both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do?
For our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy. The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Secander's pomp and display be thine, the calendar's habit and way be mine, that if it please thee I resign. While this, though bad, is enough for me, Pass from the station of I and we, And choose for thy home nonentity. When thou hast done the like of this, Thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.
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7 An Ode - Read by LLL 1:58
An Ode by Tahereh.
The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity. These brokenhearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face the dawn of the morn I seemed to see, the musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you, who condemn both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy?
The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Sikandar's pump And display be thine, The halendar's habit and way be mine, That, if it please thee, I resign, While this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, And choose for thy home nonentity, For when thou hast done the like of this, Thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.
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8 An Ode - Read by MR 2:05
An Ode by Tahira, translated by Edward G. Brown, read for LibriVox. Org by Marc Rocher, Tokyo, Japan.
The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity, these brokenhearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be, If it pleases him this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay, at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face the dawn of the morn I seemed to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attack'd By the pagans of Tartary. With you, who contemn both love and wine, For the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, What can I do, for our faith divine You hold as a thing of infamy?
The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, And thy saddle and steed, Are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, Nor the thought of the poor man's poverty.
Sicandar's pomp and display be thine, the Kalandar's habit and way be mine, that, if it please thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home nonentity. For when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.
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9 An Ode - Read by NJB 2:23
and calamity these broken-hearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee though with sword in hand my darlings stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay, at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the morn I seem to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses reign, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you who contemn both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, What can i do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy?
The tangled curls of thy darling's hair and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Sikandar's pomp and display be thine, the Kalandar's habit and way be mine. That, if it please thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home nonentity. For when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.
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10 An Ode - Read by PB 3:00
An Ode by Tahir, translated by Edward G. Brown, read for LibriVax.
The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity. These brokenhearted lovers of thine, To yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I'm well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face the dawn of the morn I seemed to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the sand those fragrant tresses ray, While his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. Would you contemn both love and wine for the hermits' cell and the zealots' shrine? What can I do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy?
The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In the heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Sicanther's pump and display be thine. The calendar's habit and way be mine. That, if it please thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home nonentity. For when thou hast done the like of this, Thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.
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11 An Ode - Read by RG 2:16
An ode by Tahere, translated by Edward G. Brown, read for LibriVox. The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity these brokenhearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be, if it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny.
As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the morn I seemed to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you, who contemn both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do for our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy? The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty.
Sekandar's pomp and display be thine, the kalandar's habit and way be mine. That, if it please thee, I resign. While this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home nonentity. For when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.
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12 An Ode - Read by RMT 2:07
The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity these brokenhearted lovers of thine, to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand my darling stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be, if it pleases him, This tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me, and in the grace of his form and face the dawn of the morn I seemed to see. The musk of Cathay might perfume gain, from the scent those fragrant tresses rain. While his eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary. With you, who contemn both love and wine for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do?
For our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy. The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Sikander's pomp and display be thine, the Kualander's habit and way be mine, that, if it please thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home nonentity, For when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.
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13 An Ode - Read by RN 2:21
An Ode by Ta Herre, translated by Edward G. Bram, read for LibriVox.
The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and calamity, these brokenhearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal for thee. Though with sword in hand, my darling, Stand with intent to slay, though I sinless be. If it pleases him, this tyrant's whim, I am well content with his tyranny. As in sleep I lay at the break of day, that cruel charmer came to me. And in the grace of his form and face, the dawn of the morn I seemed to see, the musk of Cathay, Might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant tresses rain, while his eyes demolish a faith in vain, attacked by the pagans of Tartare. With you, who contemn both love and wine, for the hermit's cell and the zealot's shrine, what can I do?
For our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy. The tangled curls of thy darling's hair, and thy saddle and steed are thy only care. In thy heart the absolute hath no share, nor the thought of the poor man's poverty. Secandara's pomp and display be thine, the carlander's habit and way be mine. That, if it please thee, I'll resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me. Pass from the station of I and we, and choose for thy home nonentity. For when thou hast done the like of this, thou shalt reach the supreme felicity.