XI: My heart hath gone out, as a help…

My heart hath gone out, as a help in the fight, a look to obtain;
And to the right and to the left are discharged the arrows of sight.

With the ardour I am filled with, my heart throbeth and beateth,
Like as the infant springeth and boundeth, in its mother's arms.

By the hand of the forsaken, peace of mind cannot be grasped--
When do the heart-scorched, from a handful of water, find relief?

The stars, in their gladness, at my union with the beloved,
The tamborine beating, have thrust their fingers through.

By the recollection, every moment, of the mole of my beloved,
A musk-pod, as it were, becometh broken upon my head,

The Rustams of patience and abstinence, like little children,
Take shelter, in retirement, from the crushing blow of love.

At the fountain of union's attainment, I die, with lips parched,
From the burning fever of the dread of separation.

Since the self-willed, like Hamid, they have made humble,
Love's pomp and grandeur are not without mishaps and blows.