| Yest'reven, the wind brought news Of the Loved One from oversea |
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| Lo, the shining moon thy face's Argent sheen hath not |
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| Yesternight thy languorous glances Of my life and soul beraught me |
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| Here the fair, with cheek enkindled, Yesternight hath been |
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| O gone from sight, to God The keeping I commend of thee |
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| By thy sword thy wretched lover's Slaughter foreassigned is not |
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| At every word I utter In praise of those her graces |
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| Plant friendship's tree, for heart's desire To thee its fruitfulness shall bear |
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| From her stead a waft of fragrance, Eastland breeze, bring thou to me |
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| Skinker, with light of wine Kindle our cup and fill! |
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