Thou hast grown up, a source of joy to bless me with pros-
perity.
A hundred are thy tendrils, three-and-thirty thy descending
shoots.
With this that bears a thousand leaves I dry thy heart and
wither it.
Let thy heart wither for my love and let thy month be dry for
me.
Parch and dry up with longing, go with lips that love of me
hath dried.
Drive us together, tawny! fair! a go-between who wakens
love.
Drive us together, him and me, and give us both one heart and
mind.
Even as his mouth is parched who finds no water for his burn-
ing thirst,
So parch and burn with longing, go with lips that love of me
hath dried.
Even as the Mungoose bites and rends and then restores the
wounded snake,
So do thou, Mighty one, restore the fracture of our severed
love.
