That had stopped for a moment, from desire to be seen; 1170
Oft deceived by bud and flower,
It had gained nothing from Life.
There it hung, ready to drop,
Like a tear on the eyelashes of a lover who hath lost his heart.
The sorely distressed bird hopped under the rose-bush, 1175
The dewdrop trickled into his mouth.
O thou that wouldst deliver thy soul from enemies,
I ask thee—“Art thou a drop of water or a gem?”
When the bird melted in the fire of thirst,