By Tavallali

At the mid-hour of twilight, in the time

When from the west the broken moon doth climb

Pale in the sky, silent and proud and white

Mary stands in the black of night.


Waits till the moonbeams, lifting their gleam above

The mountain’s battlements,from night’s face remove

The shroud of darkness,waits till their lustrous flow

Bathes her limbs in a silver glow.


Now sleeps the garden;the thieving hands of the breeze

Each happy blossom’s perfume shamelessly seize;

Tranquil the night is sleeping; but Mary’s eyes

Watch the night in the moon-washed skies.


Little by little behind the willow’s boughs

The moonbeams thievishly steal, and through the drowse

Of the black night,as Mary seeks them,astir,

Eagerly gaze they, seeking her.


Darkness ghthers her skirts, and headlong flees

From the moon’s radiance unto the distant trees;

Sweet,sweet is night; the moonlight dewy and deep

Floods the spirit and bulls asleep

Translate by A.J.Arberry