1. O doe of tender glance, O branch of slender swaying,
I ask God's forgiveness, nay, O crescent moon of face,

2. Whence to the bough the bending, to the doe the glancing?
Whence to the maid the fairness, to the eye the awe?

3. O she at whose appearing hearts bear witness, seeing
Her beauty, in the desert and the town give praise,

4. No harm had it been, had I sent as gift some yearning,
And met it, a burden to my sight that strays;

5. I found that phantom till I said, my life this night is
The night of life. But then you took my heart always

6. And sleep and trace of tear. Could I but curb my passion
For what in you appears of soft and delicate!

7. How many a night with me your fine shape has lingered,
Clothed in the dress of chastity past break of day,

8. But when the dawn began to shine, it shied, and from our eyes
Fled into the protection of a twist of hair.

9. God, the delights of hours with you I have enjoyed
Outspread upon a meadow strewn with fairest flowers!

10. Sipping, companioned, the well-aged wine unmingled,
Still plucking flowers fresh with dew in early hours,

11. While youth and raiment of my teens rejuvenated,
And life was sweet and clean, unmarred by care.

12. The well-bred and high-born of Turkish stock, my visits
Meant travel, and the rising moon meant to depart.

13. And when at dawn her smile broke forth, the shirt of darkness
Fleeing her visage swiftly tore apart.

14. Eyes cannot look on her, like sun bedazzling sight,
Concealing by her attributes the eyes of men.

15. I made my visits to the meadows, mantles trailing,
And drowned amid the lily faces and the jasmine.

16. Of form so delicate, gazing from her glances,
Her stature swaying like a supple bough.

17. Soft-speaking, songs are in the sweetness of her utterance,
Her lips are like the cup and lute also.

18. She has put on the gown of loveliness, and donned
A figured gossamer and scorned all wine.

19. Her symmetry of form between the tall and short
Is perfection in description, a golden mean.

20. Though young in years, full grown in graces,
Beauty brought her all its greatnesses.

21. Had she no languor when she turned away,
I would have said, this is no mortal creature.

22. O God, my torments for her! They have sinned indeed,
Not to be forgiven, an unpardonable wrong.

23. And in their passion multiplied my censure heedlessly,
While few reproved them for their love's excess,

24. If only I had a guide to lead my blindness,
Appointer of just doom, to hear my plea,

25. My Lord in all the world, glory of the avenged,
A sea whose bounty fulfills every hope,

26. An ink refreshed whereby the anguished heal,
A rain whose bounty falls on scattered and arrayed,

27. Who has attained a lofty seat of honor, leaving no pride
For others' boasting high or lifting head,

28. He hears no censure casting largesse, his contentment
Ne'er stained by qualm of gift or favor spared.

29. From his vast generosity the clouds could drown us.
Would that he measured out his pouring rains!

30. They said, "He is the rain," I said, "The rain is but the dew distilled
In his clouds' bounty, when they give their plenty down."

31. They said, "He is the sea," I said, "The difference is clear:
The sun makes manifest to men what is obscure."

32. By him hopes reach the goals that they are bound for,
While the sea leaves its travelers to danger and distress.

33. Munificence sought refuge in his nature,
No weariness his rest, no trouble and no grief.

34. All virtues in his attributes culminated,
But never shall his liberality be comprehended.

35. For exposition of his noble thoughts, how many
Weighty tomes and how many a book abridged!

36. O you whose lofty mansion in the clouds surpasses,
No glory left for any boasting after you.

37. And my low state affinity found in your bestowal, for
In prose and verse it spoke and sang your poverty.

38. Take it, my soul's creation, scattering pearls,
Each word fresh-coined in melody and meaning new,

39. A bride unsullied, meanings' virgin, choicest pearl,
No time has rendered loss, no absence conquest yet,

40. Perchance fulfillment comes to me from your decree,
For still toward you my happy fortunes gaze,

41. Where you are bound, resident or on your travels,
While poetry besieges still your gates in throngs,

42. As ants in swarms, and you in joy and fair conclusion,
Delighting ever in the best of earthly days.

43. More pliant than the boughs this lute of meadows,
Yet without strings or plectrum it has sung and played.