Wit
a glance of
your eyes you could plunder all the wealth of songs struck from poets'
harps, fair woman!
But
for their praises you have no ear, therefore I come to praise you.
You
could humble at your feet the proudest heads in the world.
But
it is your loved ones, unknown to fame, whom you choose to worship,
therefore I worship you.
The
perfection of your arms would add glory to kingly splendour with their
touch.
But
you use them to sweep away the dust, and to make clean your humble home,
therefore I am filled with awe.