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Each pathway-farer, who unto The winehouse street his way knows
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Welcome, bearer of glad tidings! Welcome bird of happy trace!
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So but that Turk of Shirzas take My heart within her hand of snow
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To this doorway not for worship Or array, indeed, we've come
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Lo, in thy tress ensnared my heart A-bleed, of its own self, is
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Lord, that new-blown rose and smiling, Which to me Thou didst commit
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Eye there is not from thy face's Radiance full of light that is not
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Orion, in the dawning, His baldric down doth lay
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Yestermorn relief from sorrow, In the dawntide white, They gave me
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Since in my heart for her Abode concern hath taken
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