Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for
thy worship.

It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of
the day to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening.


He came and sat by my side but I woke not. What a cursed sleep
it was, O miserable me!

He came when the night was still; he had his harp in his hands,
and my dreams became resonant with its melodies.

Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss
his sight whose breath touches my sleep?


Light, oh where is the light? Kindle it with the burning fire of
desire!

There is the lamp but never a flicker of a flame--is such thy
fate, my heart? Ah, death were better by far for thee!

Misery knocks at thy door, and her message is that thy lord is
wakeful, and he calls thee to the love-tryst through the darkness
of night.

The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain is ceaseless. I
know not what this is that stirs in me--I know not its meaning.