“I have no joy in thee,” she cried, the woman in sorrow.
I bought her jewelled anklets and fanned her with a fan gem-studded; I made her a bed on a bedstead of gold.
There flickered a gleam of gladness in her eyes, then it died.
“I have no joy in these,” she cried, the woman in sorrow.
I seated her upon a car of triumph and drove her from end to end of the earth.
Conquered hearts bowed down at her feet, and shouts of applause rang in the sky.
Pride shone in her eyes for a moment, then it was dimmed in tears.
“I have no joy in conquest,” she cried, the woman in sorrow.
I asked her, “Tell me whom do you seek?”
She only said, “I wait for him of the unknown name.”