Atsiliepimai

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Aprašymas

I am a little tired of all things mortal; I see through half-shut eyelids languorous The old monotonous Gold sun set slowly through the western portal, Where I recline upon my deep dîwân, In Ispahân. I am a little weary of the Persian Girl that I lov'd; I am quite tir'd of love; And I am weary of The smoking censers, and the sweet diversion Of stroking Leila's jasmine-scented hair, I thought so fair. At last I think I am quite tired of beauty; Why do the stars shine always in the sky? I think if I might die, Something more sweet, less tiring than the duty Of kissing her, might be; I am tired of myrrh, And kissing her.