Thou tak'st no heed of me,
I am as naught to thee;
Cruel Beloved, arise!
Lovely and languid thou,
Sleep still upon thy brow,
Dreams in thine eyes.
From out thy garment flows
Fragrance of many a rose —
Airs of delight
Caught in the moonlit hours
Lying among the flowers
Through the long night.
Look on my face how pale!
Will naught my love avail?
Naught my desire?
Hold it as gold that is
Cleansed of impurities
Tried in the fire.
Pity my heart distrest,
Caught by that loveliest
Tress of thine hair,
So that I fear the shade
Even by thine eyebrows made
O'er eyes so fair.