| Blest may the coming of the Feast, Cupbearer, be for thee |
|
|
| 'Twas a bulbul drank his heart's blook And a rose his own made |
|
|
| What while there of wine and winehouse Name and trace shall still be |
|
|
| Still the pearl of mystery's storehouse In the screen, as 'twas, is |
|
|
| Lo, thine image from the tablet Of my heart and soul ne'er goeth |
|
|
| Come, so may strength return To my heart contrite again |
|
|
| Thy lashes black a thousand rents, Sweet, in this faith have frayed of mine |
|
|
| A Lifetime 'tis that in Love's quest Each day I hither, thither fare |
|
|
| Since into the hand of the breeze the end Of thy tress again hath fallen |
|
|
| My heart's sad case to thee To say my soul's desire is |
|
|