I: Either the hinna hath been unto thy white…

Either the hinna hath been unto thy white hands applied,
Or they have been made red in the blood of thy lover.

I am unable, O dear one! to endure thy glance's fire;
For I am weak, and infirm, and powerless, altogether.

Those languid eyes of thine have many in misery plunged:
It would be well, my beloved! shouldst thou their tyranny restrain.

Thy stricken ones, without union with thee, revive not again,
Though Abu-Sina himself to prescribe for them should come.

Those sable locks of thine are like unto spring's lowering clouds;
And from them shineth out thy countenance, like the sun.

Thy fascinated ones are entangled in the noose of thy ringlets;
But the wise bird upon the net can no confidence place.

The equal to thy beauty is not in the wide world to be found;
Whilst my poor heart breaketh at the affluence thou enjoyest.

Thou art celebrated throughout the world for thy benevolence too;
Wherefore, then, givest thou not ear unto Khwajah's complainings?