| CAST not, Beloved, on me |
| Such angry looks from thy narcissus eyes, |
| Already conquered by their sorcery |
| Before thy feet my heart a captive lies. |
| Knotted within my heart, |
| The very chords that answered to thy touch, |
| My heart-strings at thy presence thrill and start, |
| For I have sighed and have lamented much. |
| O ye who sleep in peace, |
| You know not of the troubles Love can send, |
| The days whose tribulations never cease, |
| The weary nights that drag without an end. |
| Where, then, does Mecca lie? |
| Here is the Kiblah where I make my prayer: |
| Tell me the physic for my malady— |
| The anodyne for grief is everywhere. |
| O Love, where dost thou lead, |
| Upon what travel fares our caravan? |
| By Hedjaz desert shall thy footsteps speed, |
| The longest journey since the world began. |
| So poor, indeed, my fate, |
| Never to me did Love his secrets tell |
| As to those others, high and fortunate, |
| Who near his inmost shrine for ever dwell. |