Sol 5.6

  1. The young gazelle shot me with an arrow,

    and with it struck my heart—

  2. from a dewy glance in which

    drowsy languors banished my sleep.

  3. Thus my eyelid is condemned to sleeplessness,

    and my side to the thorns of qatād.

  4. My tears stream like a torrent

    that comes coursing through a valley.

  5. My heart is packed with embers,

    like a spark struck from firesteel.

  6. My patience is ever waning,

    while my love is ever growing.

  7. How, then, can solace come

    to a lovesick man whose wasting is plain?

  8. The cure for love’s wasting is lips,

    sweet with honey’s gathered nectar.

  9. Whenever he sips their fruit,

    he reaches the summit of desire,

  10. lives a goodly life,

    and rests safe from his enemies.

Sol 5.6