"O sun, since it pleased God to create thee a sun, thus a joy and not a desirer of woes to them removed from thee, a burner of those near united, a consumer of them with fire, thy glance seems sweet to the planets, a thing to be boasted of.
"They that gaze on thee become enamoured of thee; for thy sake piteously they faint. Thou art the rose I marvel why nightingales quiver not on thee. Thy beauty withers the flowers, and mine too are fading. If the sunbeams reach me not timely I am quite scorched.
"God is my witness that I fear to tell you this, but, luckless, what can I do for myself? I am quite parted from patience; the heart cannot constantly endure the piercing of the black lashes! If by any means thou canst help me, then help, lest I lose my wits.
"Till an answer to this letter reaches me, till I know if thou wilt slay me or reassure me--till then shall I endure life, however much my heart pains me. Oh for the time when life or death will be decided for me!"
Dame P’hatman wrote and sent the letter to the knight. The knight read it as if it were from a sister or kinswoman; he said: "She knows not my heart. Who is she who courts the lover of her whose I am? The beloved I have--how can I compare her (beauty) to this one's?"
Said he: "What hath the raven to do with the