UNTO the garden of attainment ne’er

Our pathway led,

And never were our eyes anhungered fed

With vision of Thy blessèd countenance,

Never a glance

Attained we of that face for ever fair.

Wherefor my tears fell down in floods like rain,

And as I sighed

I thought of my desires unsatisfied,

And memory summoned up with vain regret

The garden where we met,

But meet no more, I tell my heart with pain.

What have I then to do with high estate?

Fortune I lay aside

And all wherein the world has taken pride:

Yet in this day of my humility

Precious to me

As wine of kings I hold my cup of fate.

Despair not, sorrow-laden Makhfi, though

No grass appears

Within this desert watered by thy tears.

Why with their arguing do learnèd men

Question God’s mercy, when

His works His infinite compassion show!