My heart is sad.  ’Tis love that crushes it. 
  It leaves my heart reduced to naught but dust. 
  So that I am consumed by vigils long,
  And never taste refreshing sleep at all. 
  So that I’m like a bird with broken wings,

  Just like a bird who tries to lift its wings! 
  And so my spirit is not healed.  There comes
  To me no comfort nor relief.  The eyes
  Of my beloved are as bright as day. 
  One word from her would send the friends to death.

IN HONOR OF LALLA AYCHA-EL-MANNOUBYYA

  A fire burns at the bottom of my heart,
  For love has conquered me, and I am now
  His hostage and his prisoner.  My soul
  Is torn out from my body, and sweet sleep
  Keeps far aloof from my tired eyelids’ need. 
  ’Tis Aycha causes this, the pretty one. 
  With blackest eyes, Aycha the pure, from whom
  I’m parted now, whose name is finest gold. 
  Why? why?  Oh, tell me, El Mannoubyya.

  Why all this coldness, O my best beloved? 
  For thy dear love I have drunk deep of scorn. 
  For thy love, maiden with the darksome looks,
  I wither while thou bear’st a port of oak. 
  The fire that burns me eats my very soul. 
  My spirit is distracted by these proofs. 
  O thou, rebellious to my warm desires,
  My black-eyed beauty, if thou’rt vexed with me
  I’ll make apology before the world,
  I’ll bring an offering to thee at once,
  The symbol of my homage.  May it please!

  Instruct me, sympathetic with my pain
  Have you not said:  “I’ll bring thee soon good news”? 
  O come!  That in my sleep my eyes may see
  Thee coming toward me, my black-pupilled one! 
  Awaiting thy fair image I’m consumed,
  I am exhausted.  Why, El Mannoubyya?

  I long have hoped to see thee, O my sweet. 
  And ever farther off appears the end
  Of my awaiting.  All my nights are passed
  In cries for thee, as some poor mariner
  Cries to the angry floods that dash aloft. 
  For thee I’m mad with love, my pretty one,
  Struck with thy mien so full of nobleness. 
  And I alone must wither, ’mongst my friends. 
  O unpersuadable, with teasing eyes,
  I am in a most pitiable state. 
  Since thou repell’st me and declin’st to keep
  Thy promise to me, I’ll not hesitate
  To call thee before God.

        Unless thou deign’st
  To cast thy looks on me the coming day,
  I shall, all clad in vestments rich, make plaint
  Unto the envoy of our God, the last
  Of all the prophets.  For thou said’st to me,
  “I’ll draw thee from the sea of thy despair.” 
  I worship at thy sanctuary, sweet,
  My beauty, with large eyes of darkest night. 
  Why? why?  El Mannoubyya, tell me why.