1. Reprove me, O gazelle of the spring-pastures, but make no mention of the gazelles of the sand-dunes;
How often there, on that hillside, the driving rain has: shed the new leaves from the branching trees!

2. A herd of wild kine bursting through it when the East-Wind strikes the topmost boughs with its wing;
While they pasture there on the soft herbage, picking the fresh young growth, polished smooth like velvet.

3. Then sport, O breeze of the dawn, in its tangled thicket, but hold back from it, O breath of poison!
A negro rose beaming there, like a well-cut onyx upon his smoothly moulded cheek.

4. My sickness was healed when his lips showed their pearls and opening revealed pearl-like teeth.
Thou hast in my heart a meadow for pasture, the meadow of passion not the meadow for rain.