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Litteral translation (AJ): The roses of Ispahan in their sheath of moss, The jasmines of Mosul, the orange blossoms, Have a fragrance less fresh, an aroma less sweet, O fair Leila, than your light breath!
Your lips are coral and your light laughter Rings better than babbling waters and with a softer voice, Better than the joyous breeze that rocks the orange-tree, Better than the bird that sings on the edge of its nest of moss.
[There is no longer any aroma from the roses in the moss Nor any divine fragrance from the pale orange-tree, Since the kisses from your lips so sweet, Have fled, ô Leilah, in their flight so airy.]
Oh, if only your youthful love, that light butterfly, Would return to my heart on swift and gentle wings, And perfume once more the orange blossom And the roses of Ispahan in their sheath of moss.