O, my lady, have you not seen One
Who laid his hand on my heart, when
I answered you so softly, tamely,
Because I feared his blows?
He was Love, that one who found us,
Come from far, but standing by me,
In a Syrian bowman’s likeness,
Solely set to conquer others.
Drawing sighs from out your eyes,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem