Poem XXVI

1From the bosom of Self I catch continually a scent of the Beloved:How should I not, every night, take Self to my bosom?

2Yestereve I was in Love’s garden: this desire came into my head:His sun peeped forth from mine eye: the river (of tears) began to flow.

3Each laughing rose that springs from his laughing lipHad escaped the thorn of being, had avoided Dhū ’lfiqār.

4Every tree and blade of grass was dancing in the meadow,But in the view of the vulgar they were bound and at rest.

5Suddenly on one side our Cypress appeared,So that the garden became senseless and the plane clapped its hands.

6A face like fire, wine like fire, Love afire—all three delectable;The soul, by reason of the mingled fires, was wailing ‘Where shall I flee?’

7In the world of Divine Unity is no room for Number,But Number necessarily exists in the world of Five and Four.

8You may count a hundred thousand sweet apples in your hand:If you wish to make One, crush them all together.