"Sit near me on this red bed, I lift the poppy to your lips;
Your hand is strong upon my breast;
My beauty is a garden and you the bird in the flowering tree."
Come in haste this dusk, dear child.
"My beauty is a garden with crimson flowers."
But I cannot reach over the thicket of your hair.
This is
Nurshali
sighing for the garden;
Come in haste this dusk, dear child.