Mihrî Hatun's nine-couplet ghazal with the redif "olaydum kâşkî" (if only I were): four couplets quoted by Âşık Çelebi, and its likeness to a ghazal by Tâcîzâde Cafer Çelebi.
Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "ey dost": a servant begging a glance from the king of beauty, pearls poured from the eyes, rose-sugar lips and a body wasted to a straw.
Kara Fazlî's two-couplet Persian chronogram on the death in 955 (1548) of Mahmud, son of Sun'ullah Beg, vizier of Prince Mustafa: the Arabic-script text and its reading.
Prince Bayezid's murabba with the refrain "had your image not been my companion on this road": stanzas built on a condition, Cemşid and falling far from service.
Cûdî's ghazal with the refrain "from heart to heart": the soul's wordless converse, Mansûr's secret of the gallows, telescope lenses for righteous hearts, and a word like revelation.
The lover's bloodshot eye is treated in the language of old eye medicine: tutty, red powder, a kohl-stick. The road's dust, reddened by tears, becomes a remedy of itself.
The poet calls his own divan a verse of love and a scripture of passion; the brow is a prayer niche, the stature a pulpit, the ascetic lower than a donkey, and a naat closes.
Mihrî Hatun's ghazal with the redif "egler beni" (keeps me occupied): a lover in the house of sorrow, a spring of tears, promises of union and a wind that drives her boat ashore.
Münîrî's plain ghazal in a short metre: union hanging on fortune, a lover bent double for a cypress-tall youth, a lost arrow, the well of the chin and sinking into fortune.
Prince Bayezid's murabba with the refrain "let this weeping eye weep, let it weep blood": clouds and ocean weeping with the lover, and in the end trust in God.
Cûdî's ghazal looking back on his youth: a life lived like a poem, the Eve of the world showing her daughters as "virgin meanings", a warrant of retirement from love, and love's fire gone out.
The lover counts what the beloved never did, the refrain "you did not" carrying the list. Honey turns to sting, and the word "teftīş" makes the complaint read like a petition.
Âye, pîrâye, mâye, sermâye, dâye and sâye share one sound, while over the crownless head of the poet, nurse to love's child, stands the shade of the cypress-statured.
Mihrî Hatun's ghazal with the redif "imişsin böyle bilmezdüm seni" (I did not know you to be like this): a new face of the beloved in each couplet, and a reproach turned on the poet.
Münîrî's Sufi ghazal: the mirror of attributes reflecting the light of the Essence, passing away from self, a prostration older than Kaaba and Somnath, a mustard-seed universe.
Prince Bayezid's murabba with the refrain "again I have fallen into the pain of separation": longing to serve a padishah on the throne of felicity and a farewell prayer.
Cûdî's muhammes "The Poet": a poet who wanders alone but is never alone, speaking waterfalls and birds, a glance that interprets the universe, a trilingual stanza, and a heart struck dumb by love.
The Turkish suffix "-lik", joined to Persian and Arabic roots, makes the whole rhyme. Hair and stature teach the plants of Irem, and Ca'fer, melted by grief, asks "is this manliness?"
In this syllabic ghazal wine is the vine's daughter and mihr both sun and love, and the sayyid poet counts his salty speech and excess of love an inheritance from the Prophet.
Mihrî Hatun's ghazal with the redif "baġladı" (bound), the verb used in a different idiom in each of its seven couplets: the rope of hair, Layla and Majnun, and the confectioners' shops.
Münîrî's ghazal of the bewitching eye: an eye that plunders the heart, lips that give signs, a ruined realm restored by a sultan, ablution in blood and a kiss worth more than Samarkand.
Prince Bayezid's murabba with the refrain "watch for me, I have died, O my fair lord": love begun with a glance, a breast holed like a reed flute, the moth and a broken heart.
Cûdî's muhammes "Allegory", turning a moonlit sea into an allegory: moonlight as Muhammad, a road of light as the Sharia, the sea of unity, a silver cypress, and countless worlds drowned in light.
A ground poem to which Kemalpaşazâde and Necâtî wrote responses: down accused as a forged script, a heart of steel, lovers drawn on one page like Leylâ and Mecnun, design and destiny.
A strand of hair becomes a lute string, a tear turns telltale and love's lesson begins at night; past the pen name, Hafez of Shiraz is made nurse to the poet's child of verse.
Mihrî Hatun's ghazal with the redif "bayrâm irtesi" (the day after the festival): the senbûse pastry, festival swings, strolling beauties and a rope prepared for the rival.
Münîrî's ghazal of the image as guest: an image never to be let go, a pun on sick-visit and custom, a crescent raising its finger in assent and birth whose root is death.
Prince Bayezid's eight-stanza murabba with the refrain "O my bey, O my padishah, O my fair lord"; Filiz Kılıç cites its first stanza as an example of Şâhî's sincerity.
Cûdî's quatrains turning the water cycle into a tale of searching: a cloud seeking its beloved, a stream running to the sea, a sea asking its origin, and a note made on a train in 1904.
If the lover weeps, his tears will wash away the kohl of dust, so he will not weep. The rhymes sound like Turkish past-tense verbs, and the word "gerd" returns in two senses.
The refrain "var" counts wounds and sugar like an inventory of wealth, the poet reminds a questioning master of his skill in proving God, and Hafez becomes his measure.
Mihrî Hatun's ghazal, opening in praise of a beloved and turning to praise of a prince; by Gülşen Kaya's count one of three ghazals for Prince Ahmed, with a Mevlevî and Venus scene.
Münîrî's ghazal to a beauty named "‘İṣmet", or to chastity itself: a fate from pre-eternity, retreat in the heart, dust as collyrium, seventy-two nations and a prayer of mercy.
Prince Bayezid's murabba with the refrain "O base, faithless wheel of heaven, I cry out against you": water turning to dust, roses to chaff and a complaint against fate.
Cûdî's "Railway Train", written on a train in the Vardar plain in 1904: a train at full speed, his little son Sâfî saying the telegraph poles are running backwards, and villagers waving.
A ghazal built on a mouth that hides from its creditors: flies swarming on other beauties' lips, an eglantine turned to thorns, a shirt that draws the beloved in, and Nizâmî's ground.
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