Then she took the lute, saying, 'None shall sing
over my cup but myself.' So she tuned the strings and sang these
verses:
The hurrying tears upon his cheeks course down from either eye'
For very passion, and love's fires within his heart flame
high.
He weeps whilst near to those he loves, for fear lest they
depart: So, whether near or far they be, his tears are never
dry.
And again:
Our lives for thee, O cupbearer, O thou whom beauty's self From
the bright parting of thy hair doth to the feet army!
The full moon[FN#7] from thy collar-folds rises, the
Pleiades[FN#8] Shine from thy mouth and in thine hands there
beams the sun of day.[FN#9]
I trow, the goblets wherewithal thou mak'st us drunk are those
Thou pourest to us from thine eyes, that lead the wit
astray.
Is it no wonder that thou art a moon for ever full And that thy
lovers 'tis, not thou, that wane and waste away?
Art thou a god, that thou, indeed, by favouring whom thou wilt
And slighting others, canst at once bring back to life and
slay?
GCod moulded beauty from thy form and eke perfumed the breeze With
the sheer sweetness of the scent that cleaves to thee alway.
None of the people of this world, an angel sure thou art, Whom
thy Creator hath sent down, to hearten our dismay.
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