The One Hundred & Seventy-Third Night

Smitten with love and ignorant of love,

My poor forsaken heart burned with desire.

No sin did I commit, save that my tears

In spite of me revealed my secret fire.

With little hope I long and pine for three,

And what avails even the great when they desire?

My ardent sighs of passion rise to thee,

As if the coldest breath is blazing fire.

O you, whose love grows deeply in my breast,

Reign in my heart and rule as you desire,

A lonely heart that pines and wastes away.

Where cold disdain is but tormenting fire,

Reap what you sow then, either good or ill;

The lover's lot is but a martyr's pyre.

Glory to God who caused the moon to rise,

Bringing together lover with lover.

For who has seen the sun and moon at once

In Eden or on earth; who has ever?

~excerpt of poetry from The Arabian Nights, translated by Husain Haddawy

This by far has to be my favorite translation and abridgment of 1001 Nights. Husain Haddawy puts together a very readable version and the poetry within the stories are indulgent and beautifully interpreted. Thumbs up. Truly worth reading and buying if you've got an inner romantic to feed.