Since the day of thy departure my heart counts the nights.
Thou oughtest to be sorry for leaving us,
Thou wilt weep tears of grief when thou seest us.
I passed by their house and said not a word;
The tears of my eyes dropped before me on the stone.
The tree of love is cast out by the gate of Damascus;
I was dying and my friend came not to me.
The tree of love at the gate of Damascus is swaying;
I was dying and my friend did not come to ask.
O tree of love, at the gate of Damascus, it is green;