Where I may stow dishonour. But for her,
My daughter; if yet perchance there is any spot
In all her heart untainted by this shame
Which I may reach, that natural piety
May feel my yearning sorrow.... Tenderly,
Re-enter Almeh.
Tenderly must I work. Lo, where she comes,
Her shameful head bowed down with consciousness.
Come, Almeh, come; come nearer. See:
Thy tender grace, thy beauty’s perfect flower,