My day is dark now that the beloved is gone,
and my heart, endless in its wailing, clamors and throbs,
and I am alone in the house, seared by the fire of my longing,
and the sickly smile of morning
only deepens my yearning;
the heart rises up, but there is nothing to quench its burning thirst,
and the heart's beloved has gone away and departed.
O light of the full moon, deepen my passion for the soul's beloved
and my steadfastness to my vow, though he persist in shunning.
In the gardens of beauty the nightingale of companionship sings on,
and by your light appear
all my beautiful flowers,
pensive, communing with the memory of a few short hours
in which the heart drank deep, deep of dreams.
O garden, do you not remember days he passed here,
and the ring of the crimson kiss, its blaze mounting,
and I between his hands, complaining of him to him?
Whenever there breathed over him
the perfume of the roses' breath,
he drew the cup close and sang, then wrought love into verse,
and my heart gloried in him, proud and coquettish.
O departed one, why have you persisted in shunning and estrangement?
Why have you made my heart drink colocynth, bitter, and gall,
while I weep in the garden, waking the past and complaining,
and the garden's song kindles
love's faint flame,
lighting the heart with the remembrance of my beautiful dreams,
the day we roamed, rejoicing, in the delights of love.
