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In Praise of the Sultan's Daughter
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At dawn from the Unseen Speaker Came the glad news to mine ear
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Whosoever from thy quarter, Weary of abiding, goeth
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Preachers, who in niche and pulpit All this great display do practise
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My body for chagrin No moment's rest doth know
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Intent upon turning homeward, Why not on the fare shall I be?
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Long for her the fire of passion Burneth in this soul of ours
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Of repentance from wine in the rosetide, I'faith, I grow ashamed
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I am drunken with loveliking For yon tavern-friend of mine
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Whenas the East wind waveth Her ambergris-shedding tress
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