In the Manner of the Ghazal

The scent of the beloved's quarter spreads, the breeze stirs, and you see me wandering, lost in the excess of my longing. The night of union is a shining dawn, while the day of parting is a pitch black night. Saying goodbye to a guest is a heavy blow, and parting from a dear companion is a painful disease. A tender breast has seduced the devout; ah, if only there were a merciful heart within it. You who are unique in beauty, my soul is left alone; you who have no equal, my heart has none. My forgetting of you is a distant impossibility, and my disgrace through loving you is an old, familiar madness. You crowd of blamers, whomever God leads astray cannot be brought back to the straight path. Do you not know that the fire of hell, with the memory of the beloved, becomes a garden of bliss? Anyone among you who claims to love, yet fears blame, deserves to be blamed himself.