A beauty that all night long teaches love-tricks to Venus and the moon, Whose two eyes by their witchery seal up the two eyes of heaven. Look to your hearts! I, whate'er betide, O Moslems, Am so mingled with him that no heart is mingled with me. I was born of his love at the first, I gave him my heart at the last; When the fruit springs from the bough, on that bough it hangs. The tip of his curl is saying, "Ho! betake you to rope-dancing." The cheek of his candle is saying, "Where is a moth that it may burn?" For the sake of dancing on that rope, O heart, make haste, become a hoop; Cast yourself on the flame, when his candle is lit. You will never more endure without the flame, when you have known the rapture of burning; If the water of life should come to you, it would not stir you from the flame.
Tear not thy plumage off, it can not be replaced; Disfigure not thy face in wantonness, O fair one! That face which is bright as the forenoon sun--- To disfigure it were a grievous sin. 'Twere paganism to mar such a face as thine! The moon itself would weep to lose sight of it! Knowest thou not the beauty of thine own face? Quit this temper that leads thee to war with thyself! It is the claws of thine own foolish thoughts That in spite wound the face of thy quiet soul. Know such thoughts to be claws fraught with poison. Which score deep wounds on the face of thy soul.
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