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Every night my intellect is full of amazement
And from my weeping my bosom is sprinkled with pearls
From this traffic, the cup of my skull is not full of wine
No cup that is upside down can remain full.

 

P 292

No night that my lament to Gemini attains not,
That my tears' torrent-course unto the sea attains not.
Sayst thou, "Til drink with thee, but not until to-morrow"?
To-morrow it may be that life for me attains not.

Th 230

No night but all bewildered is my soul.
And down my breast tears big as pearls do roll;
My head from grieving is not filled with wine.
For none when 'tis upset can fill the bowl.

Wh 179

All night in deep bewilderment I fret,
With tear-drops big as pearls my breast is wet;
I can not fill my cranium with wine;
How can it hold wine, when 'tis thus upset?

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