It was in the
autumn, when the heat dried up all moisture from the mouth, and the
sultry wind made the marrow boil in the bones, so that, being unable to
support the sun's powerful rays, I was obliged to take shelter under the
shade of a wall, in hopes that some one would relieve me from the
distressing heat, and quench my thirst with a draught of water. Suddenly
from the portico of a house I beheld a female form whose beauty it is
impossible for the tongue of eloquence to describe, insomuch that it
seemed as if the dawn was rising in the obscurity of night, or as if the
Water of Immortality was issuing from the Land of Darkness. She held in
her hand a cup of snow-water, into which she had sprinkled sugar and
mixed with it the juice of the grape. I know not whether what I
perceived was the fragrance of rose-water, or that she had infused into
it a few drops from the blossom of her cheek. In short, I received the
cup from her beauteous hand, and, drinking the contents, found myself
restored to new life. The thirst of my soul is not such that it can be
allayed with a drop of pure water--the streams of whole rivers would not
satisfy it. How happy is that fortunate one whose eyes every morning may
behold such a countenance! He who is intoxicated with wine will be sober
again in the course of the night; but he who is intoxicated by the
cup-bearer will never recover his senses till the day of judgment.
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