“ With her arms full of flowers, those little flowers that never die.
Ah! my children!
Ah! my children! the wind makes cling to her skin
Her rose robe, and makes her look quite naked.
Ah! my children!
Ah! my children! Djemileh comes to us to sell
The little flowers that never die, plucked in the mountain.
Ah! my children!
Ah! my children! when she sells her flowers
The bright eyes of the lads bathe her and devour her. ”