| WHEN thou unveil’st thy shining countenance, |
| Burnt are my lashes by thy lightning glance, |
| And all the night I passionately weep |
| While o’er my heart tempests of longing sweep; |
| And if I see it not, desiring it, |
| My heart is darkened like a lamp unlit. |
| I have no hope, no comfort, anywhere, |
| Caught by the fluttering tresses of thy hair. |
| No flower can open in my garden bed |
| Until my heart’s blood dyes its petals red. |
| Sing softly of thy love, or silent be, |
| O Makhfi, lest the Hunter secretly |
| Shall come and hear thy voice, and capture thee. |