1. And a haughty one—when he walks beneath his banner,

    His stature is a spear, and his glance a keen blade.

  2. And if the swords of his eyelids were not magic,

    They would not have wounded my heart, while the blood is on his cheek.

  3. And stranger than these is this: the mirror of his face—

    I face it, weeping blood, while it smiles.

Sol 6.1