And so absorbs us we can hardly tell spring from summer;
The enchanting song of faith is on our tongues,
And in our hearts a love as deep as Majnun’s...
All who partake of our feast from us glowing like emeralds;
From all directions, downpouring Light enters our souls;
Do not suppose such blessings come from us but from the Eternal
Transcendent, in whose garden abide both lover and beloved:
Faces looking up to Him are like flowers turning toward the sun;
By virtue of that gaze, they open and grow as in springtime.
It little matters that their colour is that of silver or of rose:
What their radiance reflects is the Tincture of the Infinite.