Turtledove, my sister,
With whom a quiet spirit unites me,
Who in contrast to the blasphemy of sparrows
Can only come up with a shy cooing;
Gentle sister, tenderly wooing,
Remain in my hand, my warm hand; --
Remain nestled to my heart, sick and dying
Coo to me, the poor despondent one!

Turtledove! Let me weep
In the arcades of the mosque’s courtyard,
Where the water-spring eternally sobs
For mercy to the hard rock of the well,
Sobbing, I pleaded with my hard,
Fervently-loved one for mercy --
Sister -- with the gentle flattery
Of your voice give comfort to me, the poor wretch!

Turtledove -- when at the hour
Of prayer the stern man nears,
Sister, take my side,
Follow him, hovering over the crowd!
When he then sinks his weary feet
Into the coolness of the water-spring,
Cooingly convey greetings of love
So that he might once more think of me!