瞧!野生牛的沙漠,her yeanling estrayed from her -- Lost in the wind-plaited sand-dunes -- athirst in the maze of them. Hot-foot she follows those foot-prints -- the thrice-tangled ways of them. Her soul is shut save to one thing -- the love-quest consuming her Fearless she lows past the camp, our fires affright her not. Ranges she close to the to the tethered ones -- the mares by the lances held. Noses she softly apart the veil in the women's tent. Next -- withdrawn under moonlight, a shadow afar off -- Fades. Ere men cry, "Hold her fast! darkness recovers her. She the all-crazed and forlorn, when the dogs threaten her, Only a side-tossed horn, as though a fly troubled her, Shows she hath heard, till a lance in the heart of her quivereth. -- Lo, from that carcass aheap -- where speeds the soul of it? Where is the tryst it must keep? Who is her pandar? Death! Men I dismiss to the Mercy greet me not willingly; Crying, "When seekest Thou me first? Are not my kin unslain? Shrinking aside from the Sword-edge, blinking the glare of it, Shrinking the chin in the neck-bone. How shall that profit them? Yet, among women a thousand, few meet me otherwise. Yet, among women a thousand, one comes to me mistress-wise. Arms open, breasts open, mouth open -- hot is her need on her. Crying, "Ho, Servant, aquit me, the bound by Love's promises! Haste Thou! He Waits! I would go! Handle me lustily! Lo! her eyes stare past my wings, as things unbeheld by her. Lo! her lips summoning part. I am not whom she calls! Lo! My sword sinks and returns. At no time she heedeth it, More than the dust of a journey, her garments brushed clear of it. Lo! Ere the blood-gush has ceased, forward her soul rushes. She is away to her tryst. Who is her pandar? Death!