You have your mother's lips;
Your ring is frosted with rubies,
And your hair is a panther's shadow.
Your ring is frosted with rubies;
I was unhappy and you looked over the wall,
I saw your face among the crimson lilies;
There is no armour that a lover can buy,
And your hair is a panther's shadow.
"The cool fingers of the mistress burn her lovers
And they go away.