FOR my love’s madness all the world on me

Hath heaped its scorn; so from its ways I flee,

To find a refuge from its cruelty.

A hermitage, with peace my soul to bless,

Here in a corner of the wilderness,

Unseen by secular eyes shall I possess.

Who is the man who boasts to be Love’s slave,

And yet this petty life of his would save?

Poor Love, whose votaries are not more brave!

When I was young I asked, and Love gainsaid;

What slips, what wanderings, on Love’s road I made,

Until I summoned Wisdom to my aid!

The mirror of my heart I burnish bright

Until, reflected fair for my delight,

The Self’s eternal beauty greets my sight.

Like Yaqub blinded by his agony,

No face in all the world is aught to me;

What use have eyes except to look on Thee?