A sweet-smelling piece of clay, one day in the bath, Came from the hand of a beloved one to my hand.
I asked: ‘Art thou musk or ambergris? Because thy delicious odour intoxicates me.’
‘I was a despicable lump of clay; But for a while in the society of a rose. The perfection of my companion took effect on me And, if not, I am the same earth which I am.’