O bán tree of the valley

O bán tree of the valley, on the bank of the river of Baghdád!
A mournful dove that cooed on a swaying bough filled me with grief for thee.
His plaintive song reminds me of the plaintive song of the lady of the chamber.
Whenever she tunes her triple chords, thou must forget the brother of al-Hádí.
And if she lavishes her melody, who is Anjasha the camel-driver?
I swear by Dhu ’l-Khaḍimát and then by Sindád
That I am passionately in love with Salmá, who dwells at Ajyád.
No; I am mistaken: she dwells in the black clot of blood in the membrane of my liver.
Beauty is confounded by her, and odours of musk and saffron are scattered abroad.