You

In my thought you are wine; in my soul, intoxication.
You are a whispering in my heart, a talk that never ceases.
In you my disgrace grows sweet to me; how sweet, in love, is what is bitter!
How could my secret stay hidden in you? Is there any screen before the sun?
Has the sun's light a secret? Has the full moon a veil?
How give my witnesses the lie, when the witnesses of love are many?
They babbled your name and mine, and a perfume spread to my name.
They talked of you and of me, and mention grew sweet upon mention.
Sweet was the blending of your name with mine, as wine is blended.
They wedded our two names at a guess — would that the thing were made true!
Would that what they said were truth, even were my soul the bride-price!
May no talebearer forget us — their words are falsehood and cunning.
They lied in what they said, and yet what they said delights me.
So let us live on a slanderer's word, and let Zayd and Amr perish!
Then put on the loveliest necklace, strung with pearls of my verse.
How should my poetry not be sweet, when you, in my poetry, are poetry?