XX: When thy beauty, like the sun's, bursteth forth

When thy beauty, like the sun's, bursteth forth,
My garment, like the morning's, becometh rent.

In the society of thee, my bright-checked one!
My whole body, like the candle's, melteth away.

That person shall never die, whose head shall be
Struck off, like the candle's, by the sword of love.

Thy curly locks have drawn my heart towards thee:
The fish, by the hook, are always from the water drawn.

Call him not, hard-hearted one! a statue of the hall,
Who in dust and blood writheth in death's agony.

When, throughout the night, the rain of tears falleth,
From its effects at last appeareth the dawn of day.

He hath no strength to complain, who is by thy curls stricken;
Like unto one by a snake stung, he is speechless rendered.

The desert will rend its garment's skirt to tatters,
Should the trembling one from thy bonds escape.

Graceful words shall they write, their tablets upon,
Whose hearts, like the pen's, may crack and split.

On this account, Shaida cannot look upon a comb;
For the derangement of thy curly locks is seen therein.