| The Head of our purpose cleaves To the Loved One's threshold sill |
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| My heart, for desire of the visage so fair Of Ferrukh |
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| In the Friend's high places every Heart's initiate abideth |
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| Thy fair form on goodly fashion, O Beloved mine, They've stablished |
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| All the bulbul's thought his lover How the rose may be is |
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| Vouchsafed is the sight of the fair To me and her kiss and embrace, too |
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| Yonder swart-skinned fair, all sweetness That the world can show with her is |
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| Come, for Heav'n's Turk a raid upon The Fast-tide's tray hath made |
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| My heart from me's gone and fruition, My case to amend, cometh not |
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| Days of union with the friends gone by, remembered |
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