Come, enter my dreams, grant solace to this unrest,
Even if my heart's fire won't allow me rest.
Your tears, a killing beauty, in pretense they fall,
Let someone else, like you, lend water to this eye's thrall.
If hatred blooms, O Saqi, then from your hand,
Let the cup be filled, if not, then give command.
My hands and feet, Asad, with joy did seize,
When she said, "Just a little, press my knees."
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