On days when my lord feeleth restless
And bored with his sword and his plume
His handmaiden hath what he needeth
And what doth he need?

Rahadlakume!

On nights when my lord looketh listless
And black is the hue of his gloom
His handmaiden hath what he lacketh
And what doth he lack?

Rahadlakume!

Tis sweet with the meat of a lichee nut
Combined with a kumquat rind
The kind of confection to drive a man
out of his Mesopotamian mind

And lo, if my lord feeleth faithless
And wanders by night from his room
His handmaiden fanneth her fires
And out of the pan rises a tantalizing perfume

He scenteth the scent
He turneth his face
His previous place, in her embrace
He does resume

And love is in bloom
The while they consume

Rahadlakume!