1. O my friend, how ungenerous is my friend to me!
These are the abodes, so where are those tears?

2. We pass by the dwelling places and do not weep over them,
Yet they are the abodes of my people and the four.

3. Alas! Neither the morning breeze nor the birds of yearning
Call after them, chirping.

4. They swore by the magic of their eyelids on my heart
That desire continues to bleed it and shatter it.

5. Desire insisted on stirring restlessness in me,
As if saying: Where is the stirring from them?

6. I did not know where they went, so I did not ask the winds,
Blowing, or a lightning flash, gleaming, about them.

7. As though they are, in every flowering meadow,
People of delicacy and tenderness over it.

8. And if I bid them peace, the four winds hasten
To convey it from me to them.