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