Long hast thou suffered, sister of my heart,
Still thou art
Fair to see;
Thy pains thou entertainest with thy song,
But how long
Will this be?
The seasons all have come and gone, my dear,
But thy cheer
Still abides.
I ask which of thy moan or song is best
And thou sayst:
“God decides.”
I feel the ebbing of the undertone
Of thy moan
In thy song;
How long will tears and irony compete
For thee, Sweet,
O, how long?
When wilt thou, Baby dear, with nimble feet,
Run to greet
Me at the door?
When wilt thou, Saada, walk again with me
Near the sea,
As before?
O sister, how I wish to see thee run,
In the sun,
On the sands!
The singing breakers and the smiling beach
To thee reach
Out their hands.
The light of day is longing for thy face
And the grace
Of thy form;
O how I wish to see thee, Noor-ul-Ain
Caught again
In the storm!