1. Who was slain by your slender waist, O beauty?
As if a tear lingers over one departed.

2. It torments him, a reproach like the stirring of conscience—
Yet harshness, O fair one, does not make for a happy life.

3. For the waist is nothing but the religion of an infidel's heart,
And reproach nothing but what a reasonable man endures.

4. Your waist is a memento of joy in sorrow,
A tryst like a transient cloud.

5. The stature is but a branch, the heart a bird
Hovering though snares are laid for it.

6. Would that you were a branch for me, and yourself a flower
To which fingers stretch in spring.

7. Yes, you are blossoms on the bough of a garden,
Mourned by nightingales in the dark hours.

8. Slender waists make me weep with yearning—
Was Babylon built upon your waist?