For the pressure of thy tender foot the grass shall ne'er forget,
Shall ne'er forget the white, white heel that o'er the pathway came,
Leaving behind it, everywhere, the print of snow and flame.
But far more happy is the knight, if e'er should Allah send
To this dark separation a bright and peaceful end.
For seems to me the hours that pass, without thy presence dear,
Wear the dark robe of sorrow, that orphaned children wear.
I seek to have thee with me, for it is only to the weak
That the happiness is wanting that they do not dare to seek.
And if the doom of death is ours, it will not haste the more