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I rose and walked awhile in my own place, Then midst the harem's cloistered courts did fare, Until I chanced on somewhat black and found It was a damsel shrouded in her hair. God bless her for a shining moon! Her shape A willow-wand, and pudour veiled the fair. I quaffed a cup to her; then, drawing near, I kissed the mole upon her cheek so rare.
One day, she came into the palace, drunk with wine, But even her drunkenness with pudour was bedight. Her upper garments dropped and left her shoulders bare And loosened trousers showed the dwelling of delight; Yea, and the breeze shook hips, full heavy, and a shape, As 'twere a branch, whereon pomegranates twain unite.
She in beauty's mould was fashioned, perfect, neither less no mo'. Loveliness itself enamoured of her lovely aspect is; Coyness decks her and upon her, pride and pudour sweetly show. In her face the full moon glitters and the branch is as her shape; Musk her breath is, nor midst mortals is her equal, high or low.
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