Al-Mu'tamid ibn Abbad


The Physician - Poem by Al-Mu'tamid ibn Abbad

Pale fingers of the drowsy dawn have rent
The garment of the night, and thou, beloved,
Tearest the sad weeds of my discontent
With dawn-tipped fingers.
Wherefore I invent
A medicine from the moisture of thy lips
And from the roses that thy cheeks have lent,
To cure my melancholy.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Poem Edited: Tuesday, January 26, 2016

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