Black-robed, barefooted, with dim eyes, that rain
Wild tears in memory of thy woeful plight,
And hands that in blind, rhythmic anguish smite
Their bloodstained bosoms to sad refrain
From the old haunting legion of thy pain,
Thy votaries mourn thee through the tragic night
With mystic dirge and melancholy rite,
Crying to thee? Husain! Husain!
Why do thy myriad lovers so lament?
Sweet saint, is not thy matchless martyr hood
The living banner and brave covenant
Of the high creed, thy Prophet did proclaim,
Bequeathing for the world's beatitude
The' enduring loveliness of Allah's name?
