1. Were it not for the water’s longing for your palm, there would be no

    descent of the heart of dew—bounty estranged from the clouds.

  2. Indeed, your hand has scattered its likenesses through the air:

    this one mild and clear, that one sweetly flowing.

  3. It is as though our companies, all gold,

    were shooting streaming arrows of silver,

  4. with a cloud above every pair of tresses,

    or a rivulet between every two of us.

  5. You poured away even the water of my face—my honor—for it

    is exchanged for nothing but rosewater.

  6. So leave us the bloom of youth, and do not spill

    the swords’ bright water: it is lovelier upon them.

Sol 5.6