Now weep, my eyes. From love we have been parted!
Shed tears and let the people hear you cry:
"Oh, visit her abode—behold such beauty
As you may never see before you die!"

You are all, my love, my heart's delight.
Your lips are sweet, your mouth is rose-bud bright.
Without you I am dumb. My sorry plight
Reduces all my world to one great sigh.

Vagif, the fluttering nightingale grows weak.
In your love's lips the cure to ills it seeks,
On snow-white breasts and blushing apple-cheek,
From which may God avert the evil eye.

Translated by Tom Botting

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