
Ghazal 158 — Cân u dilden ey nigârum göresim geldi seni
Prince Bayezid's ghazal with the refrain "I long to see you": in Kılıç's reading, a servant left in a land of exile longing to see his padishah, his father Süleyman the Magnificent.

Prince Bayezid's ghazal with the refrain "I long to see you": in Kılıç's reading, a servant left in a land of exile longing to see his padishah, his father Süleyman the Magnificent.

Münîrî contrasts the cypress that shades flowing water with a beloved indifferent to his tears, recalls the morning and night cups, and likens the dawn sigh to an arrow.

Prince Bayezid's nazire to a ghazal by Zihnî: images of madness and light, a text whose closing couplet with the pen name survives only in the Pervâne Bey Mecmuası, and chain-like locks.

Münîrî's spring ghazal with the refrain "şükūfe" plays on "bār" as load, at least and occasion, and likens blossoming trees to wedding nahıls adorned for the bride of the meadow.

Prince Bayezid's ghazal on a difficult "-îşe" rhyme: an arrow of the glance that passes without breaking, a sigh that yellows the forest and Ferhad, punished for revealing love's secret.

Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "tāze tāze" rhymes "hevā" as both breeze and desire, and likens his yellowed face to fresh ambers offered to the beloved.

Prince Bayezid's ghazal in which he calls himself the Khusraw of love: the meadow of the cheek, a mouth that silences the bud, the sky's golden basin, the new beloved and old wine.

In this ghazal Münîrî lifts the bird of the heart beyond the falcon of the Sidre, and tells of the jealous heart, the cloister of the passing world and tears that quench separation.

Prince Bayezid's ghazal opening with the garment of seclusion: the head of love's realm in the corner of non-being, a coarse blanket not traded for a robe, the garment of separation.

Münîrî likens the beloved's Turk eye to a conqueror seizing the heart's realm, its gazelle eye to prey striking a lion, and sets the rival's oath against an infidel of Rumelia.

Prince Bayezid's four-couplet ghazal: a blank left in the manuscript after the third couplet, a heart whose water is tears and whose food is grief, an eye on the beloved's foot.

In this ghazal Münîrî tells of a heart that would sew up the eye with lash-needles to keep its secret, a soul seeing off a guest, and a poet begging with his divan in love's bazaar.

Prince Bayezid's ghazal with the refrain "the separation from": a lover parted from a cypress-like beloved, and perhaps from a lordship and a homeland, lamenting in the corner of grief.

In this ghazal Münîrî sends his eye's greeting to the door by his tears, likens his heart to a coal hidden under ash, and ascribes Zemzem's lying underground to its shame.

Prince Bayezid's nine-couplet ghazal with the refrain "where is": the rose without a thorn, Shaddad's mansion, Ferhad's mountain and a promise once made to a servant and not kept.

In this ghazal Münîrî joins "taşa" (to stone, to overflow) and "yaşa" (to tears, live) in punning rhymes, and ends with the prayer "may you live a thousand years" said to the bereaved.

Prince Bayezid's ghazal of a lover burning and crying "woe is me": longing hotter than grief, the unfinished "but her mouth", and a cypress and a shroud of roses for his grave.

In this ghazal Münîrî rhymes "gül-nār" (pomegranate blossom) with "gül nārı" (the rose's fire), begs the beloved not to defer the promised death, and tells of a soul come to the lip.

Prince Bayezid's ghazal with the refrain "but": a lover who knows no wealth, provision, gift or wish but the beloved, and a nightingale whose place is nowhere but the rose garden.

Drawing on the custom of tipping for first fruit, Münîrî gives his life to the beloved's pomegranate-blossom lip, and sees the cheek as a fire blazing in the night of the curl.

Prince Bayezid's nine-couplet ghazal with the refrain "like": a beloved with Alexander and Darius among her slaves, and the pomp of kingship as an empty quarrel beside union.

Münîrî likens the beloved to a houri dwelling in his veins, and tells of a heart dripping water to a dying arrowhead and of branded tulips nourished by Ferhad's tears.

Prince Bayezid's ghazal with the refrain "erenleri": the prince rejected by the Ottomans is welcomed by the erens of Persia, and the last couplet turns the hope of pardon to Rum.

Münîrî likens the beloved's hard heart to granite, scatters his heart in a hundred pieces among her locks, and likens the blood in his breast to henna smeared on a wound.

Prince Bayezid's last Turkish ghazal, thought to have been written in captivity in Iran: the cage of the body, the bell of the caravan of death and a final plea to a generous shah.

Münîrî builds a pun on "cânâneye" and "cânâ neye", likens the heart to a sown field, and the beloved's mole to one seeking treasure in the ruined heart.

Münîrî calls it a pity to look on a world that vanishes in the twinkling of an eye, likens tears to a flood, and finds true kingship in the rapture of love.

Münîrî fears the smoke of his sighs will blacken the mirror of the sun, likens his tears to the army of a world-conqueror, and turns to the prayer at dawn.

In this ghazal with the refrain "ne fâyide" Münîrî lists vain efforts: birth in Mecca avails nothing to one gone astray, nor a shut door against the thief within.

Münîrî likens his eyes to the two windows of the house of the heart, willow leaves to daggers, and his breast to a censer in which the aloeswood of the heart burns.

Münîrî turns his bloody tears into roses and tulips, says fortune is not won by toil, and tells how his soul came to his lip as he waited for the beloved's lip.

Münîrî lays the blame on the pupil of the eye, likens the chin dimple to a well with a shadow at its bottom, and counts gazing at beauty a sin written in pre-eternity.

Münîrî breaks once more a repentance broken in a hundred places, traces his drunkenness to the cup of Elest, and likens the mole to a child making bouquets of roses.

Münîrî plays on the words for wind, running and year, says the glance kills while the lip revives, and likens the heart to a moth round the candle of the gathering.

In this ghazal, preserved only in the Vienna manuscript, Münîrî likens the beloved's mouth to the star Suha fallen on the moon and praises an unnamed young prince.

Münîrî likens the beloved's beauty to a sun that would lift the curtain of both worlds, the dust of her footprint to collyrium, and his tears to countless stars.
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