Xii

Here with a little Bread beneath the Bough, A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse--and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness-- Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

[First Edition of the Translation]

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close! The Nightingale that in the Branches sang, Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!]

[Second Edition of the Translation]

With me along the Strip of Herbage strown That just divides the desert from the sown, Where name of Slave and Sultán is forgot-- And Peace to Máhmúd on his golden Throne?]