1. O bird, when the doves fell upon him
You stirred up sorrows for the lover on the day of sadness

2. So he spent the night obsessed with distance, though
He feels no longing for it, but who can explain obsession?

3. O you who embarrass the soft, swaying branch
With your gentle leaning, granting intimacy to those you allow close

4. Were it not for you, the blossoms would not have stirred in me passions
Nor would I have lost sleep for a gazelle spending the night in the valley

5. And many a night we kept company in its darkness
Among the maidens, moons and branches

6. Where we would kiss the apples of cheeks upon
The cups of the slim, and pluck pomegranates from them

7. With every pure one next to a pure one, you are shown upon
Their smooth cheeks from the falling starlights, wine glasses