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Classics > Poetry > R.W. Emerson > Quatrains and Translations > Translations

The Flute

From Hilali

Hark, what, now loud, now low, the pining flute complains,
Without tongue, yellow-cheeked, full of winds that wail and sigh;
Saying, Sweetheart! the old mystery remains,—
If I am I; thou, thou; or thou art I?
From Ibn JeminTranslationsTo the Shah

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