STORY VIIb

What matters it if it be heathen or true? Why hast thou forsaken thy Beloved? What matters it if she be fair or ugly?" 4 Let me then, I say, make complaint Of the severity of That Fickle Fair One. I cry, and my cries sound sweet in His ear; He requires from the two worlds cries and groans. How shall I not wail under His chastening hand? How shall I not be in the number of those bewitched by Him? How shall I be other than night without His day? Without the vision of His face that illumes the day? His bitters are very sweets to my soul, My sad heart is a lively sacrifice to my Beloved. I am enamoured of my own grief and pain, For it makes me well-pleasing to my peerless King. I use the dust of my grief as salve for my eyes, That my eyes, like seas, may teem with pearls. The tears which are shed because of His chastening Are very pearls, though men deem them mere tears. 'Tis "The Soul of souls" of whom I am making complaint; Yet I do not complain; I merely state my case. My heart says, "He has injured me," But I laugh at these pretended injuries. Do me justice, O Thou who art the glory of the just, Who art the throne, and I the lintel of Thy door! But, in sober truth, where are throne and doorway? Where are "We" and "I?" There where our Beloved is! O Thou, who art exempt from "Us" and "Me," Who pervadest the spirits of all men and women; When man and woman become one, Thou art that One! When their union is dissolved, lo! Thou abidest! Thou hast made these "Us" and "Me" for this purpose, To wit, to play chess with them by Thyself. 5 When Thou shalt become one entity with "Us" and "You." Then wilt Thou show true affection for these lovers. When these "We" and "Ye" shall all become one Soul, Then they will be lost and absorbed in the "Beloved." These are plain truths. Come then, O Lord! Who art exalted above description and explanation! Is it possible for the bodily eye to behold Thee? Can mind of man conceive Thy frowns and Thy smiles? Are hearts, when bewitched by Thy smiles and frowns, 6 In a fit state to see the vision of Thyself? When our hearts are bewitched by Thy smiles and frowns, Can we gain life from these two alternating states? The fertile garden of love, as it is boundless, Contains other fruits besides joy and sorrow. The true lover is exalted above these two states, He is fresh and green independently of autumn or spring! Pay tithe on Thy beauty, O Beauteous One! Tell forth the tale of the Beloved, every whit! For through coquetry His glances Are still inflicting fresh wounds on my heart. I gave Him leave to shed my blood, if He willed it; I only said, "Is it right? " and He forsook me. Why dost Thou flee from the cries of us on earth? Why pourest Thou sorrow on the heart of the sorrowful? O Thou who, as each new morn dawns from the east, Art seen uprising anew, like a bright fountain! What excuse makest Thou for Thy witcheries? O Thou whose lips are sweeter than sugar, Thou that ever renewest the life of this old world, Hear the cry of this lifeless body and heart! But, for God's sake, leave off telling of the Rose; Tell of the Bulbul who is severed from his Rose.