| At dawntide, when the Orient's king His standards on the hill-tops pight |
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| In the days of the error-hiding, Transgression-pardoning king |
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| If I on the dust of the sole Of the foot of the fair one light |
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| A Lover of fair faces And heart-alluring hair |
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| Full blown the red rose is and drunken Become is the nightingale |
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| If default from out thy musky Tress's hair hath past, 'tis past |
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| Crowned kings the bondmen of thy drowsed Narcissus-eyne are still |
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| Marry, what an idle story This of my renouncing wine is! |
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| From the garden of thy beauty If a fruit cull I, what is it? |
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| Show thy face and self's existence From my memory tear away |
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