British Muslim Heritage > Poetry 

I love her, is her love to me addressed,
I know not, we have never yet caressed;
Some day our eyes each other’s thought reveal,
Perhaps our lips in love together pressed.

I love her, yea, the flame of passion burns
As fierce as waves that hidden reeflet churns;
Altho’ a fury now consumes my soul,
I perish if the previous state returns.

To rest in her embrace I live alone,
Tho’ nought on earth might for that deed atone;
I seek to drag out life’s existence here,
Because she lives, her bosom be my throne.

’Tis life and light to see her presence fair,
No Argive Helen might with her compare;
It is enough to know the sunbeams warm,
That kiss my lips, before had kissed her hair. | British Muslim Heritage