My soul, embattled
With fortune ever,
Weeps like a river
Among the mountains.

Open and secret
Fate is assailing,
To the unfailing
Fickle and faithless.

Mountain and desert,
Ocean and prairie
Secret unwary

Stranger to passion,
Stranger to yearning
Rivulet’s turning,
Spray of the fountains.

Pale lamentation’s
Flameless outpouring
Nightingales soaring
Song in the thicket.

Burns in my bosom
The brand of passion;
In such a fashion
Burns not the tulip.

No wine of Saqi,
No spirits’ riot;
The soul unquiet
Bitterly suffers.