Zenith
     These griefs
          These gardens on and on
 Where the toad croons a tender cry skyblue
 The hind of silence startled races by 
 The nightingale that love has bruised sings in
 Your body's bush on which I've picked each rose
 Our hearts hang from the same pomegranate bough
 And in our gaze pomegranate blossoms blow
 That falling one by one have strewn the road

Translator: Harry Duncan