Miscellaneous Amatory Preludes
(In the style of nasíb, the beginning section of the old qasida.)
Alas, I am slain, and by bút óne árrow.
Slender the shaft of her, bud-barbed, and gently feather'd,
yet I lie in a mercury sweat as were it poisoned.
No there wás nó vénom in one so young:
this sickness springs from the cure of it,
from the baneful breath of the blamers.
She gazed, silently laughing, and her eyes shot arrows,
striking the sight from my eyelids, left me love-blinded.
Now in a daze I blink to recall her after-image:
I pine for a sylph, the mirage of an archer.
Speak, stones, who like me have felt the press of her!
Whisper me whither her left foot wended.
Enlighten the eyes of one by love blinded,