| The Love of a youngling maid In my head grown white hath fallen |
|
|
| At dawntide, when the Orient's king His standards on the hill-tops pight |
|
|
| In the days of the error-hiding, Transgression-pardoning king |
|
|
| If I on the dust of the sole Of the foot of the fair one light |
|
|
| A Lover of fair faces And heart-alluring hair |
|
|
| Full blown the red rose is and drunken Become is the nightingale |
|
|
| If default from out thy musky Tress's hair hath past, 'tis past |
|
|
| Crowned kings the bondmen of thy drowsed Narcissus-eyne are still |
|
|
| Marry, what an idle story This of my renouncing wine is! |
|
|
| From the garden of thy beauty If a fruit cull I, what is it? |
|
|