Daughter of Aboukias! thou hast come,
And the sun was hot when thou didst say “good-day”;
Time was, when but to hear thy words repeated
Filled me with mad desire to be with thee,
For thou wast in mine eyes a houri.
But now we know thy nature through and through.
Rash are thy words—reserve unknown to thee;
And in thy treachery thou wilt die.
Wert thou of noble race, how would thy good blood show?
By silence golden—not by reckless blame of other women,