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I took courage to look again at her and again became insensible. Then I came to myself and looking at her, saw that she had a mirror and a red handkerchief in her hand. When she saw me, she bared her forearms and smote her breast with her palm and five fingers; after which she raised her hands and holding the mirror forth of the wicket, took the red handkerchief and retired with it, but immediately returned and putting out her hand with the handkerchief, lowered it towards the ground and raised it again three several times. Then she wrung it out and folded it in her hands, bowing her head the while; after which she drew in her head and shutting the window, went away, without saying a word, leaving me confounded and knowing not what she meant. I sat there till the evening and did not return home till near midnight, when I found my cousin sitting, weeping bitterly and repeating the following verses:
Ah me, what ails the censurer, that he at thee should flite? How shall I be consoled for thee, and thou a sapling slight?
O thou, the splendour of whose sight has ta’en my heart by storm, Whose supple bending grace compels to passion’s utmost height,[1]
Whose eyes, with Turkish languor caught, work havoc in the breast And leave such wounds as ne’er were made by falchion in the fight!
Thou layst on me a heavy load of passion and desire, On me that am too weak to bear a shift upon me dight.
Ay, tears of blood I weep, for that my censors say to me, “A sudden sword, from out his lids thou lovest, shall thee smite.”
Ah, would my heart were like to thine, even as my body is Like to thy waist, all thin and frail and dwindled for despite!
Thou, that my prince in beauty art, a steward[2] hast, whose rule Aggrieves me and a chamberlain[3] that doth me foul upright.
He lies who says, “All loveliness in Joseph was comprised.” How many Josephs are there not within thy beauty bright!
I force myself to turn from thee, for fear of spying eyes, Though sore it irks me to forswear the solace of thy sight.
