Sol 6.1

  1. His coquetry has worn my heart thin;

    union with him is part of my cure.

  2. And my passion for his mole

    surpasses what he imagines.

  3. His sword-belt is Persian;

    his beauty is Joseph-like.

  4. Away from me turned, like the sway of

    his flanks, even his phantom.

  5. If you claim that love

    does not kill with its arrows,

  6. then my sleep—who has stolen it?

    And my calm—what ails it?

  7. O fickle one, what does it matter

    to my heart, his weariness?

  8. Indeed, he whose preoccupation you are—

    do not ask how he fares.

  9. And my reproacher over him—the most

    futile thing is his speech.

  10. Leave my heart and its love alone;

    for its guidance is its straying.

  11. And his favor, and my forgetting

    him, are what I cannot attain.

  12. For my death is his turning away,

    and my life is his turning toward me.

Sol 6.1