1. Sorrow enough: the nights pass away,

    and there is no road to meeting you.

  2. I live, feigning fortitude, and die of longing,

    while my share of you is forever scant.

  3. Whenever I dip my mouth into sweet, limpid water and drink,

    I choke on it, and it does not quench my burning thirst.

  4. Ah, who will aid the exile, whom there assails

    a deep-seated anguish lodged between his ribs?

  5. He yearns whenever the dusky doves coo,

    and is stirred whenever the east wind blows.

  6. The north wind folds away his patience,

    and all-pervading wine unfolds his passion.

  7. Indeed, at the foot of the Two Landmarks lies water—

    fresh and abundant—with deep shade before it,

  8. and doves, though among them I have no access to the water,

    and shade, though in it I have no place to rest at noon.

Sol 5.6