HOW long upon this soul that dwells in pain

Thy vengeance, O Tormentor, shalt thou pour?

Could I the Land of Love in peace attain,

Thy poisoned sting should torture me no more.

No unguent salves these wounds upon my heart,

The diamond lancet’s healing pang I crave,

So keen my pain I tear my scars apart,

Come with thy kindly cruelty, and save!

From out my keeping has my heart been reft,

Why, let it go then: wherefore should I weep?

Over the empty hut a faquir left

No watchman comes his careful guard to keep.

Hearken, the time of parting sounds for thee.

How long, O Makhfi, wavering like the fire,

A Kafir shall thy restless spirit be,

Blown like a flame, tormented by desire?