1. A fleeting thought occurred to me last night,
And its transience caused me only more distress,

2. With the elegance of a dove whose wings are small,
Wings, yet in the green of branches she takes rest,

3. And her innate instincts were stirred awake
To sing her lament or greeting at dawn’s behest,

4. By my life, this is an old inherited trait
Bequeathed to doves by Sheth and his noble guest.