| Cypress of lofty stature, goodly of gait |
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| Cupbearer, come! Lo, of desire for thy service I die |
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| Gone my heart and faith are and the charmer, Her despite 'gainst me to show, ariseth |
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| The Soul to life inclining, Without the Loved One's grace, hath not |
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| Chance of the mouth of the Friend E'er a sign giveth me not |
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| Though my wish of thy lip's honey Not vouchsafed have They to me yet |
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| Though her sword slay me, ne'er my hand shall break it |
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| Wind of the East, to yonder Graceful gazelle go say |
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| Sum and produce of this Workshop Of the Sphere, all this is nought |
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| All the talk with us yest'reven Of those ringlets rare of thine was |
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