Love, The Craftsman

What time I went from thee to other lands
Love took my soul between his glowing hands,
And turned it all about and tortured it —
Ah, cruel Love! — and minded not a whit
Because my poor soul at his fervent breath
Was melted, ev'n as iron that softeneth
Upon the forge; lo, on my cheek appears
Love's handiwork — my molten soul in tears.
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Mu'tamid, King of Seville
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