1. A soul excuses itself with wishes,
Not with wine or drinking cups,

2. And tears being shed
Between covenants and songs,

3. And I refused, hands clasped,
To incline toward couches and gardens.

4. I complain of youth to youth
With tears, not with the tongue,

5. And I say, as the leaves called out to me
And stirred, what stirred me:

6. "Oh leaves, what is this sighing?
For some of what I have is enough for me."

7. I left between sands
In my high, noble dwelling,

8. As for it, a melting liver,
Melted from what it suffers.

9. It asks the caravans about
My state, and laments constantly,

10. So perhaps He who made me waste away
Will come across the wailing of my body.