Poem XXXIII

1I am that supplicant who make supplication to thee;The anguish inspired by a charmer like thee hath for me a thousand charms.

2Thou art the sun of mine eyes—they are radiant with thy beauty;If I draw them away from thee, to whom shall I look again?

3I will not become inconstant to thee on account of thy cruel treatment;By remaining constant myself I will restrain thee from cruelty.