أخا العذل لا تفرط وكن متجاوزا

O faultfinder, do not overdo it, and be forgiving, for not every blame in love is justified.

Nor can every passionate soul endure it, even if he be a mighty and hardened challenger.

Nor does every enamored one mistake error for guidance—and how could they, when I am one who unlocks riddles?

Truly I am bound in love's captivity and shackles, an ally of thinness since the days of my youth.

Its waves and seas toss me about, and I found no barrier between two seas therein.

Nor do I seek departure from it, for I am truly in a delight of it, guarding against a stealthy attacker.

There is no garden of intimacy where I lack pastures of amusement, openly rather than stealthily.

And how many blossoming hills have I lived in pleasantly, whose thickets captivate minds and intellects.

At times I hear the songs of singing women, and at times I flirt with startled, bounding gazelles.

They hunt with languid, drowsy eyelids like fierce, crouching lions emerging from the thicket.

And sometimes with melodies fit for a place of worship, I offer up the tremors of my very soul.

And sometimes with wine that rests the heart, a restless, dark-eyed youth disputes it with me.

I fell in love when nobility was refined, but he turned away, casting deep cuts into hearts.

He grew proud, so the proud soul humbled itself before desire, and when he drew close, I said: spill my blood, for you it is permitted.

Consolation is impossible and yearning is an obligation; is my union with you, O beauty's brother, not allowed?

So be generous, seize my reward, and show compassion, even if it is just through a phantom visiting my sleep.