Kissing my threshold, turned, and cried “I go!”
In the clear dawn, before the east was red,
Before the rose had torn her veil in two,
A nightingale through Hafiz’ garden flew,
Stayed but to fill its song with tears, and fled.
XXVIII
Hast thou forgotten when thy stolen glance
Was turned to me, when on my happy face
Clearly thy love was writ, which doth enhance
All happiness? or when my sore disgrace