"With that same crowd of wailers I outrun
By promising to teach another cry
Of more hilarious mood than theirs, the sun
"I look my last at is insulted by.
What cry,—ye ask? Give ear on every side!
Witness yon Lover! 'How entrapped am I!
"'Methought, because a virgin's rose-lip vied
With ripe Khubbezleh's, needs must beauty mate
With meekness and discretion in a bride:
"'Bride she became to me who wail—too late—