When My Hands Poem by Abu at-Tayyib al-Mutanabbi

When My Hands



When my hands from brimming cups weakly shook,
I awoke, ere sense my wined mind forsook.
Shunning choice wines, as rich as purest gold,
I, of spring showers silv'ry draught partook.

Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: spring
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