MY heart is looted of its treasure, left

Careless and unprotected, to my shame,

And thus I weep, feeling myself bereft,

Knowing myself to blame.

With mine own hands the altar-fire I lit;

As flame within a lamp my heart afire

Glows even through the body casing it,

And burns it with desire.

Could I my foolish heart to ashes burn

Then might I rest, my sorrow then might cease;

Unto the ocean of Thy love I turn

To find within it peace.

I sink within its waters, nor above

Its surface can my weary limbs uplift,

Deep-drownèd I within the sea of love

Lapped by its waves must drift.

A wilderness this lonely heart of mine

Till love transformed it to another guise,

And now it shines as fair as the divine

Gardens of Paradise.

I would that I my longing might outpour,

My grief might turn to hymns, my pain might tell

In psalms like that sweet singer sang of yore,

David of Israel.

Unto the fields like pecking birds I go

To gather up the ears of golden grain,

But only tears, not corn, I gather—lo,

They fall in floods like rain.

O wise one, at the feast of love be glad,

But careful too, and guard thy cup of wine;

In ecstasy I drank the share I had,

O Sage, take heed of thine.

With slumber, Makhfi, heavy are thine eyes,

And though thy tale has not attained its close,

So deep a languor on thy spirit lies;

Seek thou for it repose.