Dark-eyed, O woman of my dreams, Ivory sandalled, There is none like thee among the dancers, None with swift feet. I have not found thee in the tents, In the broken darkness. I have not found thee at the well-head Among the women with pitchers. Thine arms are as a young sapling under the bark; Thy face as a river with lights.
White as an almond are thy shoulders; As new almonds stripped from the husk. They guard thee not with eunuchs; Not with bars of copper.
Gilt turquoise and silver are in the place of thy rest. A brown robe, with threads of gold woven in patterns, hast thou gathered about thee, O Nathat-Ikanaie, 'Tree-at-the-river'.
As a rillet among the sedge are thy hands upon me; Thy fingers a frosted stream.
Thy maidens are white like pebbles; Their music about thee!
There is none like thee among the dancers; None with swift feet.