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He spends the length of longsome night without a doze; * Fire-brent and drent in tear-flood flowing infinite: Ah; cut not off the longing of my fondest heart * Now disappointed, wasted, flutt'ring for its blight." Then he folded the scroll and gave it to the old woman, together with three hundred dinars, saying, "This is for the washing of thy hands."
"Love's tongue within my heart speaks plain to thee, * Telling thee clearly I am fain of thee Witness the fevers of a tortured heart, * And ulcered eyelid tear-flood rains for thee God's fate o'ertaketh all created things! * I knew not love till learnt Love's pain of thee."
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