This stain-covered daybreak, this night-bitten dawn,
This is not that dawn of which there was expectation;
This is not that dawn with longing for which
The friends set out, (convinced) that somewhere there we met with,
In the desert of the sky, the final destination of the stars!
Somewhere there would be the shore of the sluggish wave of night,
Somewhere would go and halt the boat of the grief of pain.
By the mysterious highroads of youthful blood
When (we) friends set out, how many hands were laid on our skirt’s;
From impatient sleeping-chambers of the dwellings of beauty
Arms kept crying out, bodies kept calling;
But very dear was the passion for the face of dawn,
Very close the robe of the sylphs of light.
The longing was very buoyant, the weariness was very slight.
It is heard that the separation of darkness and light has been fully completed,
It is heard that the union of goal and step has been fully completed;
The manner of the people of suffering (leaders) has changed very much,
Joy of union is lawful, anguish for separation forbidden.
The fire of the liver, the tumult of the eye, burning of the heart,
There is no effect on any of then of (this) cure for separation.
Whence came that darling of a morning breeze, whither has it gone?
The lamp beside the road has still come no lessening,
The hour of the deliverance of eye and heart has not arrived.
Come, come on, for that goal has still not arrived.