'Twere better that the spirit which wears not true Love as a garment
Had not been: its being is but shame.
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Without the dealing of Love there is no entrance to the Beloved.
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'Tis Love and the Lover that live to all Eternity;
Set not thy heart on aught else; 'tis only borrowed,
How long wilt thou embrace a dead beloved?
Embrace the Soul which is embraced by nothing.
What was born of spring dies in autumn,
Love's rose-plot hath no aiding from the early spring.
"THE HOUSE OF LOVE"
This is the Lord of Heaven, who resembles Venus and the moon,
This is the House of Love, which has no bound or end.
Like a mirror, the soul has received Thy image in its heart;
The tip of Thy curl has sunk into my heart like a comb.
Forasmuch as the women cut their hands in Joseph's presence,
Come to me, O soul, for the Beloved is in the midst.