1. My blood flowed from the wounds of Hind's eyelids,
Thus does the sword cut, though it be Indian,

2. Girded with a sword whose sharp edge is polished Andamanese steel,
When the breeze blows through his flowing locks,

3. I scent the fragrance of a handsome vagabond,
Though against my will I gave him lodging,

4. While my heart is with him and my body with me,
And many a night we spent embraced,

5. Mouth to mouth and cheek atop cheek,
I flirt with the gazelles in his margins,

6. Sporting about the meadows of Nejd,
But when the hand of time crept over

7. His cheek, whose hue was mine, pink and rosy,
And when the smiles on his lips softened And faded,

8. Black as the plaits of his musky ringlets,
Then there was nothing I loved more Than that I ransom him - O ransomed one!

9. Let no critic blame our necking,
Claiming sober sense will aid,

10. Turn from me your blame, leave me
A youth whose meadow the bulbul haunts,

11. For the camels of passion marched on,
Bearing a heart-sick lover's zeal and fervor.