The light of my heart is your lovely face, my wings and pinions your gentleness;
Festival and ‘arafa are your laughter, my musk and rose are your sweet scent.
My sign is the disc of your moon, my place of shade your lovely hair.
My prostration-place is the dust of your door, my leapingplace your delightful street.
My heart goes not to others, since it has gone in your sweet direction.
Even if my heart goes to others, your sweet “person” will draw it back.
My intoxication is of your being, my plunging-place your sweet river.
I have become like gold from your silvery bosom, I have become single through your sweet fold.
I lay my head; and how should not your sweet ball lay down its head before your mallet?
I will be silent, silent, since my clamoring is shattered by your sweet cry.
