1. By my father today, and myself in bliss,
Like the honeycomb of a black Zanji dripping honey,

2. The hand of passion toyed in its coldness,
And so it shed freshly dripping streams.

3. She stayed up last night, tending her star,
Then slept in the morning, curled up.

4. I wish I knew who gave her the wine
That tinged the dawn and left her drunk.

5. Drowsiness weighs down her bending neck,
And she smiles, heedless, if she nods off.

6. Each day I raid her, each dawn and night,
But with both I cannot slake my thirst.

7. For lust is a draught that leaves one diseased,
Not sated, however much one drinks.