| Every moment I bemoan me Of the hand of separation |
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| Thy beauty and loveliness take the world, End to end, all of it, side to side |
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| Since in this age, companion Nor comrade, that fault-free is |
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| Whoever observance and faith With the people of faith keepeth |
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| Though the saying to the preacher Of this city light no whit is |
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| "Wrong," quoth I, "is this thou doist; Ill-advised the thing, to wit, is |
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| I for constancy renowned am Of the fair, the candle like |
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| Wail, bulbul, if with me Thy heart to friendship fain is |
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| No true loveling's she who only Waist and hair possesseth |
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| Drinking and mirth in secret, Things without base are they |
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