Alone upon the housetops to the North
I turn and watch the lightning in the sky--
The glamour of thy footsteps in the North.
_Come back to me, Beloved, or I die._
Below my feet the still bazar is laid--
Far, far below the weary camels lie--
The camels and the captives of thy raid.
_Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!_
My father's wife is old and harsh with years,
And drudge of all my father's house am I--
My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears.
_Come back to me. Beloved, or I die!_