On Temper, by Nabegat Beni Jaid

YES, Leila, I swore, by the fire of thine eyes,
  I ne’er could a sweetness unvaried endure;
The bubbles of spirit that sparkling arise
  Forbid life to stagnate, and render it pure.

But yet, my dear maid, though thy spirit's my pride,
  I'd wish for some sweetness to temper the bowl:
If life be ne’er suffered to rest or subside,
  It may not be flat, but I fear ’t will be foul.