Then they displayed her in the fifth dress, with her ringlets let down. The downy hair crept along her cheeks, and she swayed to and fro, like a willow-wand or a gazelle bending down to drink, with graceful motions of the neck and hips. As says the poet, describing her: Like the full moon she doth appear, on a calm night and fair; Slender of shape and charming all with her seductive air. She hath an eye, whose glances pierce the hearts of all mankind, Nor can cornelian with her cheeks for ruddiness compare. The sable torrent of her locks falls down unto her hips; Beware the serpents of her curls, I counsel thee, beware! Indeed, her glance, her sides are soft, but none the less, alas! Her heart is harder than the rock; there is no mercy there. The starry arrows of her looks she darts above her veil; They hit and never miss the mark, though from afar they fare. When I clasp hands about her waist, to press her to my heart, The swelling apples of her breast compel me to forbear. Alas, her beauty! it outdoes all other loveliness; Her shape transcends the willow-wand and makes the branch despair. Then they unveiled her in the sixth dress, which was green. In this she reached the utmost bounds of loveliness, outvying in slender straightness the tawny spear-shaft, and in suppleness and flexile grace the bending branch, whilst the splendours of her face outshone the radiance of the full moon. Indeed, she transcended the fair of all quarters of the world and all hearts were broken by her loveliness; for she was even as says the poet: A damsel made for love and decked with subtle grace; You'd say the very sun had borrowed from her face. She came in robes of green, the likeness of the leaf That the pomegranate flower cloth in the bud encase. "How call'st thou this thy dress?" we said to her, and she Made answer with a word full of malicious grace. "Breaker of Hearts," quoth she, "I call it, for therewith I've broken many a heart among the human race." Then they dressed her in the seventh dress, which was of a colour between saffron and orange, even as says the poet: Scented with sandal and musk and ambergris, lo! she comes. The blended hues of her dress 'twixt orange and saffron show. Slender and shapely she is; vivacity bids her arise, But the weight of her hips says, "Sit, or softly and slowly go." When I solicit her kiss and sue for my heart's desire, "Be gracious," her beauty says, but her coquetry answers, "No."