Wherever the Beloved looks she stirs
Trouble and longing sore and eager breath
And deep desire in all her worshippers,
And some for her have drunk the cup of Death.

O Night of Separation, darkest night
Of deepest grief, thy cruelty shall cease;
To-morrow I shall greet the dawning light
Within the city of Eternal Peace.

O threatening Whirlwind rolling on thy way,
I shall unloose thy knot, if thou but dare
With angry gusts to toss and disarray
A single curl of the Beloved's hair.

Sometimes her beauty goads and maddens me,
I cannot bear her cruel loveliness,
But turn her mirror that she may not see;
Why should I let her double my distress?

Hearken, O Momin, all thy life is done!
In idol-worship at the Temple thou
Hast spent thy days, and thus thy years have run:
How canst thou call thyself a Muslim now?

MOMIN.