Mirage

Temper your vanity — let not my state deceive you;
I, in the flood of remorse, am burning.
Temper your vanity — let not my sorrow deceive you;
I love the fair ones with gleaming white teeth.
The heart fancied you a breath of light —
Temper your vanity: your beauty is not what —
You are only a desire born of straying.

...out of stupor and perplexity and gloom.
...the error of yesterday, out of the expanse of my book.
Your tender beauty was never among my desires.
Many a white one wears the raven's hide.
And behold — you are a handful of dust,
which the soul craves from the cups of drink,
appearing from afar — a watering place of mirage.