1. His apparition came not but like his illusion,
A restless phantom fearing its lover's delusion,

2. "Perhaps" and "if only" grew easy, for my misery
Grew easy with "perhaps" and "maybe,"

3. The shrine of beauty with his face made it sacred,
To which the pilgrims pace, seeking its grade,

4. Girded with a sword, when you see him,
His eyelids sheathe his sword,

5. O you whom my heart hosts,
No excuse for one who disrespects his host,

6. What share of our springtime did your cheek obtain?
Only what our hearts gained of its warmth,

7. How many cry, and my blood flows with my tears
When they saw my eyes' passion set ablaze,

8. I cry for the justice of the beloved when it passes,
Is it grief for it, or tears for the injustice?