Burning with desire Zulaikha Built a Chamber, Wall and Ceiling Blank as an untarnisht Mirror, Spotless as the Heart of Yúsuf. Then she made a cunning Painter Multiply her Image round it: Not an Inch of Wall but echoed With the Reflex of her Beauty. Then amid them all in all her Glory sat she down, and sent for Yúsuf—she began a Tale Of Love—and Lifted up her Veil. From her Look he turn'd, but turning Wheresoever, ever saw her Looking, looking at him still. Then Desire arose within him— He was almost yielding—almost Laying honey on her Lip— When a Signal out of Darkness Spoke to him—and he withdrew His Hand, and dropt the Skirt of Fortune. XI. Thus day by day did Absál tempt Salámán, And by and bye her Wiles began to work. Her Eyes Narcissus stole his sleep—their Lashes Pierc'd to his Heart—out from her Locks a Snake Bit him—and bitter, bitter on his Tongue Became the Memory of her honey Lip. He saw the Ringlet restless on her Cheek, And he too quiver'd with Desire; his Tears Turn'd Crimson from her Cheek, whose musky spot Infected all his soul with Melancholy. Love drew him from behind the Veil, where yet Withheld him better Resolution— "Oh, should the Food I long for, tasted, turn Unwholesome, and if all my Life to come Should sicken from one momentary Sweet!" On the Sea-shore sat a Raven, Blind, and from the bitter Cistern Forc'd his only Drink to draw. Suddenly the Pelican Flying over Fortune's Shadow Cast upon his Head, and calling— "Come, poor Son of Salt, and taste of Sweet, sweet Water from my Maw." Said the Raven, "If I taste it Once, the Salt I have to live on May for ever turn to Loathing; And I sit a Bird accurst Upon the Shore to die of Thirst." XII. Now when Salámán's Heart turn'd to Absál, Her Star was happy in the Heavens—Old Love Put forth afresh—Desire doubled his Bond: And of the running Time she watch'd an Hour To creep into the Mansion of her Moon And satiate her soul upon his Lips. And the Hour came; she stole into his Chamber— Ran up to him, Life's offer in her Hand— And, falling like a Shadow at his Feet, She laid her Face beneath. Salámán then With all the Courtesies of Princely Grace Put forth his Hand—he rais'd her in his Arms— He held her trembling there—and from that Fount Drew first Desire; then Deeper from her Lips, That, yielding, mutually drew from his A Wine that ever drawn from never fail'd—