Bouquet from Beauty's everlasting garden,
Heemaal of Heaven or Caucassian fairy -
O peasant girl, what grace! What beauty!

Flowering plant in the woodland of freedom,
Who filled your buds with fragrance?
Whose brush painted you in gorgeous rainbow colours?

Exquisite beauty, how simple is your attire,
With neither flashy border nor brocade!
O bright Kartik moon, draped in black clouds!

Queen of the fairies, you roam in freedom
In glens and fragrant bowers,
Like a honeybee gathering pollen.

With song on your lips, O bright song bird,
You glide among flowers, scattering fragrance,
Like sweet basil leaves growing wild on green banks.

I heard you singing on the heights
Like one playing on the harp in ecstasy,
And the fairies clapped their hands in joy.

What gulfs between you and highborn dames!
You are the soul of freedom and flowers,
And the dames languish in shuttered prisons.

When you entered the garden - O what coy grace! -
What did the flowers whisper to you?
You've robbed the bulbuls of their speech.

You wear no jewels, but your lovely skin
Sparkles with millions of them!
Glory to the jeweler who wrought this miracle!

Your hair, innocent of purchased scents,
Frames a face whence flows such heady wine
As for its hue and power has no compeer.

O those gushing springs of bashfulness!
The hounes envy your grace, and yet
You're framed in virtue, strong-soured maiden.

I saw you working in the field,
Singing a love song, your sleeves rolled up, -
O what rough work for those delicate arms!

O the loveliness of those sweat-soaked arched eyebrows
How many are the hearts that it has slain!
O urn full of wine bewares your own drink!

Flower among fairies; let not the primrose path tempt you
May you escape the deadly embrace of sloth?
And the wayward doom of unbridled desire!

Mahjoor, how sweet are your songs!
They have a depth of meaning for the knowing soul
Who don't dismiss them as a fabric of words?