| Each pathway-farer, who unto The winehouse street his way knows |
|
|
| Welcome, bearer of glad tidings! Welcome bird of happy trace! |
|
|
| So but that Turk of Shirzas take My heart within her hand of snow |
|
|
| To this doorway not for worship Or array, indeed, we've come |
|
|
| Lo, in thy tress ensnared my heart A-bleed, of its own self, is |
|
|
| Lord, that new-blown rose and smiling, Which to me Thou didst commit |
|
|
| Eye there is not from thy face's Radiance full of light that is not |
|
|
| Orion, in the dawning, His baldric down doth lay |
|
|
| Up, for the conquering flag Of Mensour the King is come! |
|
|
| Yestermorn relief from sorrow, In the dawntide white, They gave me |
|
|