Şiir 76
Which as a lethargy o’er mine inmost vitals a-creeping,
Hath from my bosom expelled all of what joyance it joyed,
Now will I crave no more she love me e’en as I love her,
Nor (impossible chance!) ever she prove herself chaste:
Would I were only healed and shed this fulsome disorder.
25
Oh Gods, grant me this boon unto my piety due!