BABA TAHER

without thee in the garden ,lord,i know the sweetly-perfumed roses cannot grow,
nor tears of grief, although the lips should smile,
be washed away in joy's bright overflow.

when trees to grow beyond their boundaries dare, they cause the gardeners much anxious care,
down to their very roots they must be pruned,though pearls and rubies be the fruits they bear.

grieving for thee my heart is very sad,a brick my pillow,and my couch the earth; my only sin is lovingthee too well;
surely not all thy lovers suffer so?

o lord! this heart of mine afflicts me sore, i weep this heart of mine both they and night;
often i grieve but for my grief; o some-one rid me of this heart that i may be free.