O men of faith, my love is infidel
Such a calamity, such is the bliss alas!
The morning dew on her shoulders so sit
To the silent rose amourn; the nightingale ever-
And anon. Untrue in the ambush of her hair,
The tulip’s sad face this morning dappl’d grey.
From the soft winds of paradise -this day
Let it be flown in the mist, or a kiss on her lip
No nectar, honeybee from a flower ever sucked:
Rain is a hundred blessings on her eyes
To die than to live, upon a lover as it looks,
Friends the morning cup, and yet you say
The keeper of the tavern is just a’way.
‘Opener of the Door’ I implore thee
Open the door for I knock in vain.
Lose yourself as you lose, all else in love
Hath anyone in love ever gained?
He hath thus gained who hath but lost himself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem