Page:Tales from the Arabic, Vol 3.djvu/152

134 My watering lips, that cull the rose of thy soft cheek, declare My basil, lily mine, to be the myrtles of thy hair. Sandhill and down betwixt there blooms a yellow willow-flower, Pomegranate-blossoms and for fruits pomegranates that doth bear. His eyelids’ sorcery from mine eyes hath banished sleep; since he From me departed, nought see I except a drowsy fair. He shot me with the shafts of looks launched from an eyebrow’s bow; A chamberlain betwixt his eyes hath driven me to despair. My heart belike shall his infect with softness, even as me His body with disease infects, of its seductive air. Yet, if with him forgotten be the troth-plight of our loves, I have a king who of his grace will not forget me e’er.