CHAPTER 112
IN PRAISE OF HER BEAUTY
HE
1111. Soft art thou, O blest anitcha flower ! but tenderer than thyself is she on whom my heart is set.
1112. Thou becomest distracted whenever thou seest a flower, O my Heart! Thou thinkest that the flowers that look on all men can resemble her eye!
1113. Her arm is as the bamboo; her body is as the tender leaf; her smile is a very pearl; the sweetest of odours is in her breath; and her eye is piercing as the lance.
1114. The sky-blue flower despaireth of ever equalling her eye in beauty, and droopeth down its head whenever it looketh on her.
1115. She hath adorned herself with anitcha flowers but hath not removed the stems from among them: alack ! her waist will be crushed beneath the weight and will presently break!
