1. Your excuse, O fanciful imagination,
For a lover of Layla does not sleep,

2. How can one sleep whom a girl has fought,
Whom no arrows could make deviate,

3. His passion melted him with love,
And instead passion stood within him,

4. He wanders insanely to a nodding branch,
Above which a full moon has appeared,

5. And glances he tries to be rid of,
Due to his excessive madness and illness,

6. When will this aloofness block me off,
And gather me and my scattered tents,

7. And you know that aiding me is permitted,
My torture and tormenting me is forbidden.