1. Her eyelids, when slumber visits them,
Harbor hope, were it not for her bashfulness.

2. Her tears rekindle the fervor of my heart
Whenever memories renew their covenant.

3. And she whose love I pursued in my prime—
Her affection is ever new, though time wears away all things.

4. She is the sun rising in the horizon of my heart,
She is the gazelle between my ribs, my wish.

5. All beauty has gathered in her,
And in her singular charm, perfection is manifest.

6. My body has become thin from passion for her. Would that
Her heart might feel for my distressed state!

7. The missives of my love are on her cheek,
My tears as my longing desired, her ink.

8. When she is far from me, she occupies my thoughts,
Near me, inside my heart—an ever-present shelter.

9. Oh heart tossed about in passion!
Your home is her peace. How, then, this estrangement?

10. And so, you reproachers, stop!
These souls are equal in their ignorance and wisdom.

11. Let her dream passionately in tranquility,
For if she had a choice in this life, she would be mine.

12. Memories incline toward a time now past.
My hope of returning there rests with God.

13. The state of lovers is just so.
And as you know, she is my pillar and support.

14. Oh, by he who passed those promises, now gone!
Can their fulfillment be hoped for when their time has ceased?

15. Niggardly are the days with wishes fulfilled.
Rarely will Fate hand over its lead ropes.

16. Many a night we spent with our friend
As the sun of our revelry faded, dimmed by the dark wine.

17. And despite the envious we pass it merrily,
Ablaze in the wine-cup, the spark of its flame now kindled.

18. Horses raced to the wine-cups, vying in swiftness,
Striving in earnest at the race-course of joy.

19. So her orbit appeared on the horizon,
And in the sphere of joys her steeds went galloping by.

20. Would that one day she might generously return
And, estrangement past, her submission be won!

21. Had the daughter of thought not visited me at dawn—
So adept in the garden of eloquence her tread—

22. The soul of this despairing lover would not have sought
To replace sorrow as his faith and creed.

23. It is her way to give affection evermore.
Is not love her treasure and equipment?

24. Abu al-Fadl, anticipate the morn with your reply!
For in you is the polish of literature, the flint of its spark.

25. Launch thereby an arrow from your sturdy bow
That flies straight in beauty none can contend.

26. For whenever you compose subtle thoughts in verse,
Your steed surpasses all in the arena of excellence.

27. Prose blossoms—and what are they next to their garden?
Poetic pearls—and what are they alongside their string?

28. These are but arrows of eloquence,
Finding their mark when rightly aimed.

29. These are but saplings of tender growth
That bear fruit thickly when watered from books.

30. These are but the swords of skill,
Bared in the hands of those who answer my lines with excellence.