NOT fierce enough, O moth, the flame to burn those yearning wings of thine,

Not bright enough the torch of love within our palace halls to shine.

Mine eyes have scattered pearls of tears, no consolation did they gain;

The matchless jewel of my soul is given away, and all in vain;

Long is my bitter tale of grief, of separation from my Friend,

Unfinished is it even yet, although my life has reached its end:

Useless, O Saki, is thy cup, no wine of comfort flows for me

Who drink alone the wine of blood; to others give thy remedy:

Tale after tale of love is told, linked all together like a chain.

The fetters hold my heavy heart, of liberty I dream in vain:

Under the angry storms of death my boat of life has foundered deep,

My house is fallen, round its dust winds of annihilation sweep.

Yet, Makhfi, if within thy heart the flame of heavenly love arise,

Thy lonely desert shall be fair as garden groves of Paradise.