Pangs of passion find no recourse
Except riding 'Palmyra horse'
Pining body and mind lose shame
And take to riding of the palm.
Once 1 was modest and manly
My love has now Madal only.
Rushing flood of love sweeps away
The raft of shame and firmness, aye!
Palm-ride and pangs of eventide
Are gifts of wreath - like bracelet maid.
Madal I ride at midnight for
My eyes sleep not seeing this fair.
Her sea-like lust seeks not Madal!
Serene is woman's self-control.
Lust betrays itself in haste
Though women are highly soft and chaste.
My perplexed love roves public street
Believing that none knows its secret.
Fools laugh at me before my eyes
For they feel not my pangs and sighs.
DECORUM DEFIED
