There is a war of love between the entrails and the large…

There is a war of love between the entrails and the large eyes, and because of that war the heart is in woe.
Dark-lipped and Swart is she, her mouth honeyed: the evidence of the bees is the white honey which they produce.
Full-ankled, a darkness o’er a moon; in her cheek a red blush; she is a bough growing on hills.
Beautiful, decked with ornaments; she is not wedded; she shows teeth like hailstones for lustre and coolness.
She keeps aloof in earnest, though she plays at loving in jest; and death lies between that earnest and jest.
Never did the night darken but there came, following it, the breath of dawn: ’tis known from of old.
And never do the East winds pass over meadows containing coy virgins with swelling breasts
But they bend the branches and whisper, as they blow, of the flowery scents which they carry.
I asked the East wind to give me news of them. The wind said, 'What need hast thou of the news?
I left the pilgrims in al-Abraqán and in Birk al-Ghimád and in Birk al-Ghamím near at hand;
'They are not settled in any country.' I said to the wind, 'Where can they take refuge when the steeds of my desire are pursuing them?'
Far be the thought! They have no abode save my mind. Wherever I am, there is the full moon. Watch and see!
Is not my imagination her place of rising and my heart her place of setting? for the ill-luck of the bán and gharab trees hath ceased.
The raven does not croak in our encampments or make any rift in the harmony of our union.