1. The critic chided me, O Hind, about love, a blamer
A lover, if company is counted, is a comrade

2. Yet he's no talebearer, by passion’s creed,
Nor doubtful, by affection’s law, of probity.

3. I told him who you were, then we conversed
In wondrous talk enchanting to lovers.

4. I said, “Have patience.” Every brother I love
Will repent tomorrow at his beloved’s hand.