O God majestic, pardon this poor wretch!

Pardon, O Lord and Master, him who grieves!

Just three-and-twenty years! That was the age

Of her who wore the silken sash. My love

Has followed her, ne'er to revive within

My widowed heart. Console me, Mussulmans,

My brothers, for the loss of my sweet one,

Gazelle of all gazelles, who dwelleth now

In her cold, dark, eternal home.

Console me, O young friends, for having lost