I was intent on seeking a stratagem, that that moon-faced one might set his face on mine.
I said, “I have one word in my mind; come forward, that I may speak it in your ear.
Last night, dear soul, I saw a dream, and I desire to seek from you its interpretation.
I have none intimate with this dream but you; do you listen, my king whose habit is to conceal.”
He moved his head and laughed—that head which knows me hair by hair—
As if to say, “You are hatching a trick to play on me, for I am the mirror of every hue and scent.”
I am as a plaything in his hands, for I am the picture drawn by his gold-stitching needle.
Not lifeless shall be the image which he has made; I am his least image, I am therefore in ecstasy.
