| We're gone, thou knowest and my heart That's eaten up with care |
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| Place, save thy sill, for me beneath The firmament is not |
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| Be't remembered that my dwelling Erst thy door anigh was |
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| Away, companions, with the knots Of the Friend's tress make ye! |
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| Heart, for thy running-footman Let favouring fate suffice! |
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| Come, the cassock of the Soufi To the winehouse straight bear we |
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| Of the love of her my heart the holy place is |
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| Sawest thou, o heart, the havoc That Love's pain hath wrought? |
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| Come the glad news is that the days Of woe will not abide for ever |
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| Who sweetheart kind and fair and mind Unracked of care and pain doth hold |
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