1. I ransom you, though you wrong me, you are not just to lovers,
And how much I suffer when I long for you,

2. As though I were in the shade of your radiant sun.
Your union hides separation for this slave,

3. And your separation reveals affection and union.
My love, it's said poetry is a branch,

4. Yet your poetry on playfulness is fundamental.
By my soul, you whose cheeks are roses,

5. I watered them with my tears, affliction, and dangling tresses.
The niggardly complained of the sweetness of union,

6. So speak of the generous one in whom is stinginess.
When I tried to untie the band, its sleeves said,

7. “We protect him, untie not!”
If his cheek is revealed from his mantle,

8. His tender skin and home are seen.
And his cheek sent fragrance scattering forth

9. With a cheek that has no match among roses.
Excellence and beauty are not the sons of Sahl,

10. Even if they include favor and generosity.
Like your munificence or your nature one day of accord,

11. So this is excellence, this beauty, this ease.