My soul cries out to thee in bitter need
—When wilt thou come—or wilt thou come indeed?
O Saki, do not pass my goblet by,
Although the feast is spread its lip is dry.
Be careful, O my tears, lest you should tell
The world my secret that you know too well.
O Sorrow, in thy tangled paths I go,
The Kaaba's gateway I no longer know,
But bend my head wherever I see rise
The arch that curves o'er the Belovéd's eyes.