{80}, page 111 in the article:

 
How murderous is the false faith of the rose!
The nightingale's doings amuse the rose.

Celebrate the breeze's freedom: everywhere lie broken
The meshes of the net of desire of the rose.
                        [I now think it should be "desire-net" instead of "net of desire"]

Deceived, everyone fell for its wave of color.
Oh, the lament of the bloody-voiced lip of the rose!

How happy is that drunken one who, like the rose's shadow
Rests his head on the foot of the rose.

Spring creates it for you, it's my rival
The perfume-like breath of the rose.

They make me ashamed before the spring breeze
My cup without wine, my heart without desire for the rose.

Your jealous beauty appears in such glory that
It's mere blood in my eyes, the color of the charm of the rose.

Even now, deceived, thinking it to be you
The rose runs recklessly after the rose.

Ghalib, I long to embrace her
The thought of whom is the rose on the dress of the rose.
 
 

{75}, p. 112 in the article:

The beloved's face calls forth the deathless flame of the candle,
The rose's fire is water of life to the candle.

In the tongue of the knowers of tongues, death is silence.
This shone forth in the gathering through the tongue of the candle.

The story was made explicit by the flame's suggestion alone:
In the style of those who have died to the world, is the story-telling of the candle.

O flame, it grieves over the moth's vain longing:
Your trembling reveals the frailty of the candle.

At the thought of you my spirit sways, I swear
By the splendor-scattering of the wind, by the wing-fluttering of the candle.

Seeing me at the beloved's pillow, it burns.
Why should my heart not be scarred by the jealousy of the candle?