The full moon appeared in the night of hair

The full moon appeared in the night of hair, and the black narcissus bedewed the rose.
A tender girl is she: the fair women were confounded by her, and her radiance outshone the moon.
If she enters into the mind, that imagination wounds her: how, then, can she be perceived by the eye?
She is a phantom of delight that melts away when we think of her: she is too subtle for the range of vision.
Description sought to explain her, but she was transcendent, and description became dumb.
Whenever it tries to qualify her, it always retires baffled.
If one who seeks her will give rest to his beasts, others will not give rest to the beast of reflection.
She is a joy that transports from the rank of humanity every one who burns with love of her,
From jealousy that her clear essence should be mingled with the filth which is in the tanks.
She excels the sun in splendour: her form is not to be compared with any.
The heaven of light is under the sole of her foot: her diadem is beyond the spheres.