In the garden of the roses
Evening shadows fast are falling,
And from Mihrab’s lovely bower
Longing leans the dark-eyed maiden,
Like the moon in silv’ry brightness.
There to breathe the cool of evening 
Strays the chief with hair like star-beams,
Zal, the nursling of the Simurgh.
Bird of wonder, bird of power,
In the trackless mountain dwelling.
Soft and sweet the maiden’s singing
And his heart went quickly from him.
Glowed her cheek like tulip flower,
Long and dark her scented tresses,
Like the sea-waves rippling, flowing.
Longing, leaning, down she cast them,
Bound them fast, and bound them surely,
By the fragrant coil ascending,
Light he sprang beneath her casement, 
Reached the bower, and kissed the maiden.