1. Your blame is fair, had love been fair,
And your advice is wise, if the heart were wise.

2. The passion shot me with an arrow that hit my innermost being,
So how can I be blamed for what I complain of?

3. Leave me be with my state, if grief would depart,
Reproach would have eased what I bear.

4. A letter from my beloved - you are the best remedy
For my heart, though the doctor has despaired of curing me.

5. You lifted the darkness of doubt from his face,
So it shone like the full moon and the night grew tender.

6. And you roused my apprehension of betrayal while heedless,
When my eyes were not heedless of the dear one's affection.

7. Show him my state, and test him with a killer -
An illness, which is what is killing me.

8. It is not up to me to visit his tomb,
Nor can I, though I hasten to do so.

9. Our two abodes look upon each other, and intention comes between us,
Returning the gaze of longing, while it is diverted.

10. Had I hoped that ease would follow hardship,
But we became lovesick, and the one hoped for was not found.

11. I used to see flowers as most fortunate,
So I envied them, while good fortune belonged to the flowers.

12. I found that none alive is without torment,
And the most wretched of those who suffer are those who are rational.

13. The covenant of my youth in Safoora proved to be pure,
As if what was in the soul extended to the abode.

14. And my meadow of bliss and amusement has changed;
Neither its beauty consoles me, nor does passion occupy me.

15. I surveyed it at dawn, opening its eyelids,
As the sprig awoke while the eyelid was still heavy.

16. I circled among the flowers as they slept securely,
I disturb them, drawing them to me, and they tremble.

17. I attempt to shape a bower,
Killing some as I please, leaving some.

18. I was not one to commit injustices against them,
Rather, the insanity of despair carries me away.

19. Until a withered rose appeared to me,
As if the tears of dawn on it were dripping.

20. It had the ascension of splendid youth and morn,
And in its face a frown for one who observes.

21. The imaginations of sadness and sorrow appeared on it,
Seen, then imagined.

22. And its fading gives it the meaning of life
In the eyes of its beholders, so it is more beautiful in the soul.

23. The queen of that garden, a rampant lily,
Crowned with a crown, as if pearls were threaded on it.

24. The brightest-faced, like the morning in its purity,
Its height like a spear, or more upright.

25. If the morning breeze draws it to the rose,
It does not bend in pride or turn away.

26. While my hand extends to both,
Pity prevents me again and again, so I desist.

27. As dawn's forehead appears, crowned
With a crown, as if folded gauze were on it,

28. And its emerging sun does not crumble in its kindling
Like the crumbling of my heart, aflame with longing,

29. When my father's right hand encircled me,
And a teardrop flowed from his eye unrestrained,

30. I kissed him thirstily, as if
The blaze of fire were in my brain, and the kissed white hair a spring,

31. He said, not knowing the effect of his words
On me and you, being ignorant of our situation:

32. "My son, may God forgive them," his heart pitying
The condition of the two blossoms, interceding with what

33. he could, pleading
"For both of their sakes, for both

34. Are wretched, wishing for death, and death delays."
"Do not precede the sword of destiny in ending them,

35. Though it would heal them if hasty."
The two were secret lovers for an hour, then punished

36. At length - thus time laughs at some, then frowns.
For these two lovers is a strange event

37. I am keen to see how it unfolds.
This faithful one's upbringing in Safoora proved to be good,

38. As if what was in the soul extended to the abode.
And my joyous meadow and amusement changed,

39. So neither its beauty consoles me, nor does passion preoccupy me.
I surveyed it when dawn opened its eyelids,

40. As the sprig awoke while the eyelid was still heavy.
I circled among the flowers as they slept securely,

41. I disturb them to draw them to me, and they tremble.
I attempt to fashion a bower,

42. Killing some as I please, leaving some.
I was not one to wrong them,

43. But rather the insanity of despair carries me away,
Until a withered rose appeared to me,

44. As if the tears of dawn were dripping on it.
It had the rising of splendid youth and morn,

45. And on its face a frown for one who observes.
The imaginations of sadness and sorrow appeared on it,

46. Perceived, then imagined.
And its fading gives it the meaning of life

47. In the eyes of its beholders, so it is lovelier in the soul.
The queen of that garden, a rampant lily,

48. Crowned with a crown, as if pearls were threaded on it.
The fairest-faced, like the pure dawn,