1. He vowed his life to passion as a youth,
And his life passed, bearing no fruit.

2. Save for thorns that bloodied his hopes, empty dreams
He endured deprivation like a forlorn, bare hill.

3. He made night his temple, and the insanity of love
His living idol of Venus’ sorcery.

4. Whenever the stars shone the dawn of a dream,
He thought the night was its eternal morn.

5. And when the sun rose and he found no trace of sleep,
Alas, he thought the dawn was evening!

6. In mercy to the deprived, he makes a necklace
Of tears, and a staff of sighs.

7. He said to me, his head bowed in sorrow,
“What has yearning reaped for me?”

8. It is no sin that I roam, crazed with love—
I remain but mortal in passion!

9. We are in the eve of life, forgetting
Its eternal dawn of youth.

10. Our father, the outcast, instilled in us
His sacred lesson of love’s madness.

11. So we answered, as believers—he was
A prophet of blessing and virtue.

12. We forgot paradise, but for promises
And trysts beneath the boughs.

13. We forgot Satan, but for kisses
And hands that coyly fold back sleeves.

14. We wove of poetry sanctuaries for wishes
And made our passion a sublime idol.

15. We made caprices a world of temptations
And held the nuptials of bliss with tears.

16. We denied eternity but for the eternity
That art’s spirit creates.

17. She is Eve, who still inspires the genius
Of his art, and gives the poet worth.

18. We were content for her sake that Time be
Showers now and then, weather fair and foul.

19. Though I am poetry ecstatic in love
I remain virtuous at heart.

20. I gained not from her passion what I wished—
And still wish on, wretched with yearning!

21. Oh, the ordeal that shakes my being,
And kindles fires in my core!

22. I am Qays, his nights with each Layla,
His shared madness boundless in scope.

23. I watch the roads—perhaps the full moon will shine
And illuminate my world with its light.

24. I want of life only wine, poetry,
And passion, exalted and pure.

25. Then pass my days, parched of heart, when
The path wears me out, and I trudge on.

26. No love makes my eyelids quiver in awe,
And inspiration overflow as lyric verse.

27. No apportioner of beauty grants people
Fortunes—not a taste he gives me.

28. I have wearied of my life, while desires
Char my laments black as coal.

29. I said, “O friend! There is a phantom
Who lived for the inspired—seek him out!”

30. Then rouse your mournful poetry with wine,
And give it to lovers as a draft.

31. But he shunned me and mumbled a poem—
Its melodies did not soothe my ear.