1. She glided between them like an apparition
Embracing goddesses in her imagination

2. Thinking herself stripped
Of art within an unreachable sanctuary

3. She cannot feel the yearning of souls
Nor the eyes of men upon her

4. She sees none but her idol
On his throne of majestic glory

5. Passion called her to stand before him
For art is but passion and compliance

6. So she trembled like one enchanted
A touch of coyness overspread her face

7. And in her soul was sweet delight
Like an outcast granted union at last

8. You'd see her circling around him
Her youthful splendor, her alluring charm

9. Clasping her wrap, casting it aside
With pride and grace in every step

10. Like a horsewoman embracing her sword
Having cast it down after long strife

11. She stretches out her arms and folds them
Turning in curves and composure

12. Like a naiad folding her tresses
And drawing fully adorned rivals near

13. Perplexing the gaze in rippling
Floods of light envelop wherever she goes

14. Seeming to the eye wherever it lands
A meadow butterfly dried of shade

15. Or a lily amid crystal
In the sun's fluttering at sunset

16. She moves like a dream between lids
And like lightening between mountain heads

17. Poised on toe tips, inspired
By the blowing wind and bounding gazelle

18. And runs two flowing arms
Like streams in a valley cascading downhill

19. As if around her they draw
The figure of a uniquely molded form

20. They refused to touch him with her palms
Though passion wished it, and beauty desired it!

21. And strangely, as she is enthralled
She shows you guidance, and shows you misguidance

22. She twists and wanders like a wisp
Dancing, before the melting of ice

23. She rises and falls like a sail
Billowing south wind and north wind gust at her

24. She dashes as if a hand behind her
Torments her with whips long and sore

25. And she crawls, raising her face
Pleading forgiveness in supplication

26. And drops suffering, forehead to the ground
Like a drunkard fallen from her rope

27. Her lips tremble with agony
Yet not from sorrow or weariness at all

28. But it is some of her longing
And some of what the nights entrusted her with!