1. Her torment's folds, though honey drips
From lips where perfectsweetness sips,

2. For Zainab's memory dearer are
To me than any lute afar.

3. She wrongs, but lineage gives her right
To all respect from wisdom's light.

4. A maid of Beni Hilal's line,
No bitch to her shall e'er incline.

5. I never weary of her grace
When she reproves with frowning face.

6. Abashed, to her reproofs I bow;
What answers can I make her now?

7. Perchance her lover's sleepless pain
May gentleness in her regain.

8. Parted from her, bereft of bliss,
One woe on other woess I kiss.