The passions most men boast them of

Are like a desert's noontide haze:

I love thee with a constant love

Unwithering through all my days.

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This fondness I profess for thee

Is pure, and in my heart I bear

True love's inscription plain to see,

And all its tale is written there.

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Had any passion, thine beside,

At any time my soul possessed,

I would have torn my worthless hide

And plucked that alien from my breast.

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There is no other prize I seek:

Thy love is my desire sincere:

Only upon this theme I speak

To capture thy complacent ear.

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This if I win, the earth's expanse,

And all mankind, are but as dust,

Yea, the wide world's inhabitants

Are flies that crawl upon its crust.
---- Ibn Hazan

Poema de Abu Muhammad Ali Ibn Hazam dedicado a 'Ubaid Allah Ibn `Abd al-Rahman Ibn al-Mughira, neto do Califa Al-Nasir.

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Imagem: Alegoria de Escultura, Gustav Klint