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.