Classic Poem

A beauty that all night long teaches love-tricks to Venus and the moon,
Whose two eyes by their witchery seal up the two eyes of heaven.
Look to your hearts! I, whate'er betide, O Moslems,
Am so mingled with him that no heart is mingled with me.
I was born of his love at the first, I gave him my heart at the last;
When the fruit springs from the bough, on that bough it hangs.
The tip of his curl is saying, “Ho! betake thee to rope-dancing.”
The cheek of this candle is saying, “Where is a moth that it may burn?”
For the sake of dancing on that rope, O heart, make haste, become a hoop;
Cast thyself on the flame, when his candle is lit.
Thou wilt never more endure without the flame, when thou hast known the rapture of burning;
If the water of life should come to thee, it would not stir thee from the flame.