Chapter XXVIII

What kind of comforter art thou to me? What help and solace in calamity? No wound is there upon my bruised heart But thou hast touched to make it sting and smart!

But yet, Beloved One, I ask in pain When is the hour when thou wilt come again? My soul cries out to thee in bitter need --When wilt thou come--or wilt thou come indeed?

O Saki, do not pass my goblet by, Although the feast is spread its lip is dry. Be careful, O my tears, lest you should tell The world my secret that you know too well.

O Sorrow, in thy tangled paths I go, The Kaaba's gateway I no longer know, But bend my head wherever I see rise The arch that curves o'er the Beloved's eyes.

MIR.