Thou shouldst have given to me the robe and crown
And made me king of kings,
Or dressed me in the tattered darwesh gown,
Poorest of earthly things.

O that I were thy fool to do thy will,
Simple and led by thee!
What meaning have my knowledge and my skill,
They have no worth to me.

Lo, thou hast made me as the dust that flies
Unheeded in the street,
O were I that which in her pathway lies,
Trodden beneath her feet!

My heart is as it were to fringes shred,
Such wounds it had to bear;
Would that it were the comb, to touch her head,
To tend her perfumed hair!

Long have I known that it was thy design
To burn my soul outright;
O may at least the happy fate be mine
To be the Tavern light!