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!