I met at morn a girl of the tribes, bearing a milk-bowl
[7]
I met at morn a girl of the tribes, bearing a milk-bowl.
Said I: O my soul!
Pluck from your dark-green pomegranate tree
Two of the rounded orbs & fling them straight
Into the bowl
Then wilt thou see in the bowl
Two dancing mounds of milky white
And upon two faintest buds of red
And therein imaged behold the bosom
For which I am sighing.
I met at morn a girl of the tribes, bearing a milk-bowl.
Said I: O my soul!
Pluck from your dark-green pomegranate tree
Two of the rounded orbs & fling them straight
Into the bowl
Then wilt thou see in the bowl
Two dancing mounds of milky white
And upon two faintest buds of red
And therein imaged behold the bosom
For which I am sighing.
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