O you whose soul had informed my soul of itself, your thought every moment has made an impression on your slave.
Whatever you think whatever enters your mind, that same instant that thing passes into your servant’s mind.
My soul has become occupied with your graceful airs; your guile in secret has wrought another thing.
Every morn the reed laments, remembering your lip; your love fills the mouth of the reed with candy and sugar.
Because of your moonlike face and your stature and waist, this soul of mine has made itself like the new moon.
When I make myself like a belt, perhaps you will come to my waist, O you whose eye you have fixed on me in wrath.
In wrath you gazed and turned my heart upside down, so that this wandering heart journeyed out of itself.
