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Meseemeth, indeed, that I see you, bytimes, in illusions of sleep: Ah would that the visions were real we see in the dreams of the night!
Indeed, I’m desirous of slumber, I crave after sleep, without need, So haply, therein, with the loved one a dream may the lover unite.
Then he walked on, little by little, heeding not how he went, till he reached the foot of the stairs, whence he dragged himself to his own chamber and shutting the door, lay there, sick and drowned in the sea of his solicitude, eating not nor drinking. He passed the night thus, weeping and bemoaning himself, till the morning, when he repeated the following verses:
The birds took wing at nightfall and far away did fly, And whoso dies of passion, no blame on him may lie.
I’ll keep love’s tidings secret, what while I keep it may; But, if fierce longing conquer, ’twill out unto the spy.
A loved one’s image haunts me, whose face is like the moon, Anights; there comes no morning, for passion, in my sky.
I mourn for my belovéd, what while the heart-free sleep, And all the winds of passion their sports upon me ply.
I lavish tears and riches and soul and wit and life; For lavishness is profit in love, as well know I.
The foulest of all evils and woes that may betide Is when a man disfavour from fair ones must aby.
They say that to show favour’s forbidden to the fair And that their blood ’tis lawful to shed for love that sigh;
And so unto the lovesick, for all resource, remains His life for love to lavish, in jest, and jesting die.
I cry aloud, distracted with longing for my love; For all the lover’s effort is weeping and outcry.
When the sun rose, he went forth of the chamber and ascending to the roof, sat down before the pavilion and awaited the return of the birds, till nightfall; but they came not; wherefore he wept till he fell down in a swoon. When he came to himself, he dragged himself down the stairs to his chamber; and indeed, the night was come
