Yon itinerates the Phoebe,
I feel not it\'s coolness
Sans aroma, crimson roses
That blooms within my seraglio,
Sun that giveth radiance
Scorches me not!
Lacks shade, the trees
Where I stand.
When damsels embrace me
Ne’er am I in lust,
Though posset I do drink
It embitters my tongue,
Sans my Psyche - this terra
Is inferno unto me.