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And saith another:
Give me brunettes; the Syrian spears, so limber and so straight, Tell of the slender dusky maids, so lithe and proud of gait.
Languid of eyelids, with a down like silk upon her cheek, Within her wasting lover’s heart she queens it still in state.
And yet another:
Yea, by my life, such virtues in goodly brownness lie, One spot thereof makes whiteness the shining moons outvie;
But if the like of whiteness is borrowed, then, for sure, Its beauty were transmuted unto reproach thereby.
Not with her wine[1] I’m drunken, but with her tresses[2] bright That make all creatures drunken that dwell beneath the sky.
Each of her charms doth envy the others; yea, and each To be the down so silky upon her cheek doth sigh.
And again:
Why should I not incline me unto the silken down On the cheeks of a dusky maiden, like the cane straight and brown,
Seeing the spot of beauty in waterlilies’ cups Is of the poets fabled to be all beauty’s crown?
Yea, and I see all lovers the swarthy-coloured mole, Under the ebon pupil, do honour and renown.
Why, then, do censors blame me for loving one who’s all A mole? May Allah rid me of every railing clown!
My form is beautiful and my shape slender; kings desire my colour and all love it, rich and poor. I am pleasant, nimble, handsome, elegant, soft of body and great of price. I am perfect in beauty and breeding and eloquence; my aspect is comely and my tongue fluent, my habit light and my sport graceful. As for thee, [O yellow girl,] thou art like unto a mallow of Bab el Louc, yellow and made all of sulphur. Perdition to thee, O pennyworth of sorrel, O rust of copper, O owl’s face and food of the damned! Thy bedfellow, for oppression of spirit, is buried in the
