'Twas not grape juice gript me but grasp of Past,
'Twas not bowl o'erbowled me but gifts divine.
His coiling curllets my soul ennetted
And his cruel will all my wits outwitted."
After a pause she resumed:
"If we 'plain of absence, what shall we say?
Or if pain afflict us, where wend our way?
An I hire a truchman to tell my tale,
The lovers' plaint is not told for pay.
If I put on patience, a lover's life
After loss of love will not last a day.
Naught is left me now but regret, repine,
And tears flooding cheeks forever and aye.
O thou who the babes of these eyes hast fled,
Thou art homed in heart that shall never stray.
Would Heaven I wot hast thou kept our pact
Long as stream shall flow, to have firmest fay?
Or hast forgotten the weeping slave,
Whom groans afflict and whom griefs waylay?
Ah, when severance ends and we side by side
Couch, I'll blame thy rigors and chide thy pride!"
Now when the portress heard her second ode, she shrieked aloud and
said: "By Allah! 'Tis right good!" and, laying hands on her
garments, tore them as she did the first time, and fell to the
ground fainting.
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