The gypsy from these bonds shall raise
A sharp defence; there come the days,
That we ourselves with spurs shall clank,
Like the man of lofty rank.
I struggled, by a savage love laid low,
Burn me, destroy me with thine eyes' bright glow,
Let on me prey a swarm of sighs like fire,
And pierce my bosom with its own desire.
Thy breath is wafted like a breeze in spring,
Thy breath is fragrant, and doth rapture bring;
My love, which thy laments would fain allay,
Like to young wine doth surge in pearly spray.
Like to a goblet filled with foamy longing,
Within my bosom gleaming waves are thronging;
Twine round me thy pale tresses in a flood,
Thou still'st the fervour of my flaming blood.
A bounding desert-steed, my passion, cries:
O that thy breath would like the samum rise;
O that thine arms might bring me to my end,
E'en as the hurricanes the oak-trees rend.
