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The Veil of the face of the Soul is The dust of my body base
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Lo! from this dwelling of exile Homeward if e'er I shall go
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From of old the love of fair ones Only wont and goal of mine is
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The Image of thy face to us In every road way-mate is
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"Thy mouth and thy lip", I asked her, "Me blest when will they make?"
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Sweet is seclusion, if the Friend In company with me be
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The Love of a youngling maid In my head grown white hath fallen
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At dawntide, when the Orient's king His standards on the hill-tops pight
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In the days of the error-hiding, Transgression-pardoning king
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If I on the dust of the sole Of the foot of the fair one light
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