The magic play of her eyebrow like a crescent
Drives me crazy with lust for her heavenly scent.
The poet protests love loves not those whom love
Fattens, but makes destitute: such is his reproof.
O God, bent and witless I stumble to your feet,
A beggar’s lips with only your name to repeat.
She took out her bright mirror and began to preen,
Curls upon curls caused my heart to wildly scream.
All the night I watch her until dawn’s false light,
When she cruelly disappears and fades from sight.
Night is all vanity and day begins once again;
All but her pale face fills me with regret and pain.
Darvish walks and walks to beg his daily bread;
One day, her magic will invite him into her bed.