The Asra

The wonderful Sultan’s daughter

Every day used to rush,

Around the evening hour to the fountain,

Where the white waters splash.

The young slave stood pale

At the fountain, around evening,

Where the white waters wail; 

And his paleness was increasing.

One evening the princess approached him, With sudden words, like a whip:

I want to know your name,

Your home and your kinship!

And the slave spoke: 

My name is Mohammed,

I come from the Yemen that I cherish,

And I stem from the tribe of Asra,

Who, when they love, they perish.