But over this poor threshold will not pass,
For I may not unveil her, and alas!
The bridal gift I can't afford to pay.


XXXVIII

I have imagined that our welfare is
Required to rise triumphant from defeat;
And so the musk, which as the more you beat,
Gives ever more delightful fragrancies.


XXXIX

For as a gate of sorrow-land unbars
The region of unfaltering delight,
So may you gather from the fields of night
That harvest of diviner thought, the stars.


XL

Send into banishment whatever blows
Across the waves of your tempestuous heart;
Let every wish save Allah's wish depart,
And you will have ineffable repose.


XLI