When we had drunk several cups of wine, there came in to us a
damsel of the utmost beauty and elegance, as she were a
willow-wand, who took a lute and playing a lively measure, sang
the following verses:
Is it not passing strange, indeed, one house should hold us
tway And still thou drawst not near to me nor yet a word
dost say,
Except the secrets of the souls and hearts that broken be And
entrails blazing in the fires of love, the eye bewray
With meaning looks and knitted brows and eyelids languishing
And hands that salutation sign and greeting thus convey?
When I heard this, my entrails were stirred and I was moved to
delight, for the excess of her grace and the beauty of the
verses she sang; and I envied her her skill and said, "There
lacketh somewhat to thee, O damsel!" Whereupon she threw the
lute from her hand, in anger, and cried, "Since when do you use
to bring ill-mannered fools into your assemblies?" Then I
repented of what I had done, seeing that the others were vexed
with me, and said in myself, "My hopes are at an end;" and I
saw no way of quitting myself of reproach but to call for a
lute, saying, "I will show you what escaped her in the air she
sang.
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