With 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.

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The gardener
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