And there is rose-water in the argeeleh.
It seems to me the little lass is framing to herself some artifice.
When will she say to me, “O youth! come, and let us intoxicate ourselves”?
“Tool el-layálee lem yenkat′a’ noohee
’Ala ghazal mufrad wa-khad roohee.
Nedren ’aleiya wa-n ata mahboobee
La-amal ’amáyil má ’amilhásh ’Antar.”
Every night long my moaning ceaseth not
For a solitary gazelle that hath taken away my soul.
I vow that, if my beloved come,