| O hoopoe of the East, To Sheba's air I send thee |
|
|
| Renouncement, o friend, of seclusion The maid of the vine hath made |
|
|
| My soul cometh forth and my wish, Belov'd, of thee cometh not forth |
|
|
| Prelude |
|
|
| Quoth the wine-seller old yesterday |
|
|
| To the gard'ner, if the five-days Commerce of the rose behoveth |
|
|
| Since that thy blessed shadow On my existence fell |
|
|
| Though in ferment, like the wine-jar, For the heart a-fire, am I |
|
|
| The Sleep of that seductive eye Of thine is not for nought |
|
|
| I'm drunken still with yonder Curled browlock's fragrant air of thine |
|
|