the sun you wish to greet!

The message that to you I give,

Give to the Beloved in his street.

Flay to the Beloved's retreat,

and say " Dead is she. She does not live."

Drive me not off. I humble am.

They love, O love, with blows it gives

Hath felled me to the ground. thou art!

My one spouse! Thou hast many wives.

O Camel! spurn thy slothful mood,

No longer now delay,

But once unite me with my love,

No more the truant play,

But speed, ere night doth pass away,

To meet my love afar.

And pretty tufts to trees she tied;

"Oh God! I have great hope in thee,    

My loved-one back to let come."

(sur samondi)