O grief for my heart

O grief for my heart, O grief! O joy for my mind, O joy!
In my heart the fire of passion is burning, in my mind the full moon of darkness hath set.
O musk! O full moon! O bough of the sand-hills! How green is the bough, how bright the moon, how sweet the musk!
O smiling mouth whose bubbles I loved! and O saliva ill which I tasted white honey!
O moon that appeared to us veiled in a red blush of shame upon thy cheek!
Had she removed her veil, it would have been a torment, and on this account she veiled herself.
She is the morning sun rising in a heaven, she is the bough of the sand-hills planted in a garden.
Fear made me watch her incessantly while I watered the bough with falling rain.
If she riseth, she will be a wonder to mine eye, or if she setteth she will be a cause of my death.
Since Beauty bound on her head a diadem of unwrought gold, I am in love with gold that has been wrought.
If Iblís had seen in Adam the brilliance of her face, he would not have refused to worship him.
If Idrís had seen the lines that Beauty limned on her cheeks, then he would never have written.
If Bilqís had seen her couch, the throne and the pavement would not have occurred to her mind.
O sarḥ tree of the valley and O bán tree of the thicket, deliver to us of your perfume, by means of the zephyr,
A musky odour which exhales its fragrance to us from the flowers of thy lowlands or the flowers of the hills.
O Wu tree of the valley, show us a branch or some twigs that can be compared with her tenderness!
The zephyr's breeze tells of the time of youth spent at Ḥájir or Miná or Qubá,
Or at the sand-hills and where the vale bends beside the guarded pasture or at La‘la‘, where the gazelles come to browse.
Do not wonder, do not wonder, do not wonder at an Arab passionately fond of the coy beauties,
Who, whenever a turtle-dove moans, is thrilled by the remembrance of his beloved and passes away.