My soul be a ransom for him who returned my salute with a smile And revived in my breast the longing for union after despair! The hands of passion have brought my secret thoughts to the light And that which is in my bosom unto my censors laid bare. The very tears of my eyes press betwixt me and him, As though they, even as I, enamoured of him were.
When she had finished, Shemsennehar rose and filling a. cup, drank it off, then filled it again and gave it to Ali ben Bekkar; after which she bade another damsel sing; and she sang the following verses:
My tears, as they flow, are alike to my wine, as I brim it up! For my eyes pour forth of their lids the like of what froths in my cup.[FN#6] By Allah, I know not, for sure, whether my eyelids it is Run over with wine or else of my tears it is that I sup!
Then Ali ben Bekkar drank off his cup and returned it to Shemsennehar. She filled it again and gave it to Aboulhusn, who drank it off. 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.
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.