THOU bringest never, long-lost happiness,

To still my heart’s distress

The remedy I crave. Why to the crowd

Should I thus voice aloud

My sadness, drawing scorn upon my name,

Telling the world my shame?

If in the close-hung darkness of the night

There shine no thread of light,

What matter? Though no torches flame for me,

My sorrowing heart can see

Illumined by the fire of grief it bears.

Why tangled in the cares

Of worldly hopes, O heart unsatisfied,

Restless wilt thou abide,

Seeking those things that thou shalt never gain?

Help askest thou in vain

From useless friends, and far into the skies

Peace like the Phœnix flies.

Behold, no herb of sweet content has grown;

For we have only sown

In far-off springs the seeds of our disgrace.

How could we bear to face

The direful Judgment Day, did we not bring

Our idol, witnessing

That by this Kafir worship which we give

We true believers live?

Upon the sea of bliss our boat is set,

But comfort comes not yet;

Over the soul waves of the tempest rise

Menacing to the skies.

So weary, Makhfi, are thine eyes with tears,

Darkened the world appears,

Nor can they tell, by grief and watching worn,

The rosebud from the thorn.