Ah! Thine Eyes Lay Waste the Heart

Ah! thine eyes lay waste the heart, they 'gainst the soul bare daggers dread;
See how sanguinary gleam they — blood aye upon blood they shed.

Come, the picture of thy down bear unto this my scorched breast, —
It is customary fresh greens over the broiled flesh to spread.

Said I; "O Life! since thy lip is life, to me vouchsafe a kiss."
Smiling rose-like, "Surely, surely, by my life," she answer'd.

As I weep sore, of my stain'd eyebrow and my tears of blood,
"'Tis the rainbow o'er the shower stretched," were by all beholders said.

Whilst within my heart thine eye's shaft, send not to my breast despair;
Idol mine! guest after guest must not to one same house be led.

Through its grieving for thy hyacinthine down, thus feeble grown
Is the basil, that the gardeners nightly o'er it water shed.

Quoth I: "O Life! do not shun Jem, he a pilgrim here hath come;"
"Though a pilgrim, yet his life doth on a child's face hang," she said.