A Serenade to His Sleeping Mistress, by Ali Ben Abd Algany, of Cordova
A SERENADE
TO HIS SLEEPING MISTRESS.
BY ALI BEN ABD ALGANY, OF CORDOVA.
SURE Harut's * potent spells were breathed
Upon that magic sword, thine eye;
For if it wounds us thus while sheathed,
When drawn ’tis vain its edge to fly.
How canst thou doom me, cruel fair,
Plunged in the hell † of scorn, to groan?
No idol e’er this heart could share
This heart has worshipped thee alone.
