Arabian Poetry, by W. A. Clouston, , at sacred-texts.com
With trembling steps to me she came;
"Farewell," she would have cried,
But ere her lips the word could frame,
In half-formed sounds it died.
Then bending down, with looks of love,
Her arms she round me flung,
And as the gale hangs on the grove,
Upon my breast she hung.
My willing arms embraced the maid,
My heart with raptures beat;
While she but wept the more and said,
"Would we had never met!"