Enough if they awhile remain;
Like Irem's bowers, that fade away,
From time to time, and come again,
And life shall all one Irem be
For us, my gentle Maami.
O haste, for this impatient heart
Is like the rose in Yemen's vale,
That rends its inmost leaves apart
With passion for the nightingale;
So languishes this soul for thee,