1. With furtive sips the tippler sighs,
As goblets' clink his thoughts supplies;

2. To thee I swore by gifts bestowed,
By Kureysh, and each vessel stowed

3. Within my frame, replenished o'er;
Thou should'st be mine though spurned before.

4. Twice she circled round me, life almost fled,
And sense and utterance nearly fled.

5. I knew not aught till in the morn we woke,
And then my friend the flagon freely took.