"
Then said the portress, "By Allah, O my sister, come to me and
complete this service for me." Replied the procuratrix, "With joy
and goodly gree." So she took the lute and leaned it against her
breasts and swept the strings with her finger tips, and began singing:
"Give back mine eyes their sleep long ravished,
And say me whither be my reason fled.
I learnt that lending to thy love a place,
Sleep to mine eyelids mortal foe was made.
They said, `We held thee righteous. Who waylaid
Thy soul?' 'Go ask his glorious eyes,' I said.
I pardon all my blood he pleased to shed.
Owning his troubles drove him blood to shed.
On my mind's mirror sunlike sheen he cast,
Whose keen reflection fire in vitals bred.
Waters of Life let Allah waste at will,
Suffice my wage those lips of dewy red.
And thou address my love thou'lt find a cause
For plaint and tears or ruth or lustilied.
In water pure his form shall greet your eyne,
When fails the bowl nor need ye drink of wine."
Then she quoted from the same ode:
"I drank, but the draught of his glance, not wine,
And his swaying gait swayed to sleep these eyne.
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