 | The lion's cub |  |
II.
That beauteous idol with the stony heart,
And ornaments of silver in her ears,
She robs me of my reason and my rest.
And ornaments of silver in her ears,
She robs me of my reason and my rest.
Could I enfold her like the robe she wears,
Soon as I touched this robe, her inmost robe,
And clothed her with myself, my heart would rest.
Soon as I touched this robe, her inmost robe,
And clothed her with myself, my heart would rest.
If all my bones were mouldered into dust,
My soul could not forget its love for her.
My soul could not forget its love for her.
Her neck and breast, her snow-white neck, her breast,
They plunder me of my heart, my faith, and heart.
They plunder me of my heart, my faith, and heart.
Hafiz, the only cure—the sovran cure,
Is in her full, sweet lips, her honeyed mouth.
Is in her full, sweet lips, her honeyed mouth.
| The lion's cub | |