Everything in our world of ardent desire and delight is rose-colored
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 part 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 color is that of silver or of rose:
What their radiance reflects is the tincture of the Infinite.