In The Mâhûr Mode

I saw that moon,
A shawl from Lahore
Tossed over her shoulder
And over cheeks of rose
She wore
A veil of light.
Staircases
Drunk on the tender kiss
Of her hem,
She descends,
With a thousand allures,
From a porcelain palace.
She gathers up her skirts
And leaps
Into a triple-oared skiff
As, I suppose,
Would the new moon
Pass over a crystal mirror
All along the banks
On either side
The folk of Sadabad
In bands
Applaud from afar
The promise of her coming.
And from the shores
Of the Silver Canal
Your voice breaks forth,
Oh Kemâl,
Like a fountain of gold
Singing in the mâhûr mode.