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She shone, a moon, amongst the ways, midmost a garden fair, Wherein sweet jessamine and rose and fragrant basil were,
And myrtle and anemones blood-red and eglantine And violets, compassing about the cassia-tree, blew there.
The zephyr steals from it the scents, wherewith it laden is; Its perfume, from the boughs exhaled, breathes fragrance everywhere.
Hail, O thou garden, that all flowers and sweets doth comprehend, That perfect art in every grace and fashion of the fair!
Under the shadow of thy boughs the full moon[1] shineth bright And with the sweetest melodies the song-birds fill thine air.
Thy ringdove and thy mocking-bird, yea, and thy turtle-dove And nightingales stir up my soul to longing and despair;
And yearning harbours in my heart: dazed at thy goodliness Am I, and as one stupefied for drunkenness, I fare.
Then she said to him, ‘Harkye, sirrah! Begone about thy business, for we are none of the women who are neither thine nor another’s.’[2] And he answered, ‘O my lady, I said nothing ill.’ Quoth she, ‘Thou soughtest to divert thyself with the sight [of the garden] and thou hast looked on it; so go thy ways.’ ‘O my lady,’ said he, ‘belike [thou wilt give me] a draught of water, for I am athirst.’ Quoth she, ‘How canst thou drink of a Jew’s water, and thou a Nazarene?’ But he replied, ‘O my lady, your water is not forbidden to us nor ours to you, for we are all [as] one creature.’ So she said to her slave-girl, ‘Give him to drink.’ And she did so. Then she called for the table of food, and there came four damsels, high-bosomed maids, bearing four trays [of meats] and four flagons full of old wine, as it were the tears of a slave of love for clearness, and [set them down before him on] a table around whose marge were graven the following verses:
