My fleet-footed dromedary, my doe of the Tartar country, O my riches, O my money, O my entire patrimony, O my fortune, O my plenty! Quicken your pace just a little; journey’s end is not far off.

O you bright and beautiful thing, you are lovely, you are charming, O you houri of my dreaming, you, the Layla of whom bards sing, you, the desert’s sprightly offspring! Quicken your pace just a little; journey’s end is not far off.

When the sun of noontide blazes, you dive into clear mirages; and in moonlit nights’ bright reaches you flash as a comet flashes with an eye that never closes! Quicken your pace just a little; journey’s end is not far off.

Like the clouds a constant roamer; sailless boat with sand for river; born path-knower like a Khizr, carrier who does not murmur, darling of the camel-driver! Quicken your pace just a little; journey’s end is not far off.

In your rein is stimulation; travel is your inspiration; with a very scanty ration, you are night and day in motion, never resting at one station! Quicken your pace just a little; journey’s end is not far off.

If at dusk you are in Yaman, then at dawn you are in Qaran. Rough sand of your native region is to your feet soft like jasmine. O you fleet gazelle of Khotan! Quicken your pace just a little; journey’s end is not far off.

Now the moon, her journey over, goes into her sand hill shelter, dawns a new day, so much brighter than the moon for all her splendour. Blows the desert wind of summer! Quicken your pace just a little; journey’s end is not far off.

Lively is the song that I sing; lively, but full of foreboding – for the caravan a warning that the hour has struck for starting. Kisser of the Haram’s paving! Quicken your pace just a little; journey’s end is not far off.