Poem VI

1O thou who art my soul’s comfort in the season of sorrow,O thou who art my spirit’s treasure in the bitterness of dearth!

2That which the imagination has not conceived, that which the understanding has not seen,Visiteth my soul from thee; hence in worship I turn toward thee.

3By thy grace I keep fixed on eternity my amorous gaze,Except, O king, the pomps that perish lead me astray.

4The favour of that one, who brings glad tidings of thee,Even without thy summons, is sweeter in mine ear than songs.

5In the prostrations of prayer thought of thee, O lord,Is necessary and binding on me as the seven verses.

6To thee belongs mercy and intercession for the sin of infidels:As regards me, thou art chief and principal of the stony-hearted.

7If a never-ceasing bounty should offer kingdoms,If a hidden treasure should set before me all that is,

8I would bend down with my soul, I would lay my face in the dust,I would say, ‘Of all these the love of such an one for me!’

9Eternal life, methinks, is the time of union,Because time, for me, hath no place there.

10Life is the vessels, union the clear draught in them;Without thee what does the pain of the vessels avail me?

11I had twenty thousand desires ere this;In passion for him not even (care of) my safety remained.

12By the help of his grace I am become safe, becauseThe unseen king saith to me, ‘Thou art the soul of the world.’

13The essence of the meaning of “He” has filled my heart and soul;“Au” cries the street-dog, and neither have I third or second.