The Same Theme

I was content to take mere promises of your love, even though you have forgotten every vow you made. My tears have become a flood like Noah's, and my chest a furnace fed with fire. You cut the ropes of my covenant by turning away, though they clung to me as close as the jugular vein. You fled and kept your distance, so my rose turned pale; come back, and perhaps my withered branch will grow green again. Whenever the cup of longing intoxicates me, the moan of my desire sings out like the notes of a lute. Sleep has become a stranger to my eyes, hoping that you, lovely one, might return to me. Is my chest not softer than silk? Then how has your heart grown harder than iron? How often the thread of my tears unstrings its beads for the wearers of bracelets and necklaces. I could almost fly into the air out of yearning whenever the willow-slender figures sway. You have bewitched me with black hair, red cheeks, and a white throat. When you lifted your veils from those cheeks, I said: they are reddened with the blood of stricken hearts. The jet-black braids hang loose, as long as the night of a lonely lovesick man. Curls like curved polo sticks, twisting, wrapped around the round spheres of the breasts. The nights of parting from them are the evening of death; the day of union with them is the morning of a festival. Yes, I am truly smitten with them, and how could the truth be hidden by denial? Even if I deny what I feel, it cannot stay hidden: the change in my face is the clearest witness against me. My state resembles the Day of Resurrection; otherwise my very skin would not testify against me. The turns of fate have driven my resolve to cross empty deserts and traverse wastelands. I set out to travel the world freely, but love bound me fast in its chains. The bond of patience held me firm until I was blessed with the sight of the fortunate king. Whoever seeks shelter in the glory of a man of high rank has taken refuge in a mighty stronghold.