O you, from whose worth thousands of valueless boasts

The rose garden of your beauty gave life to the sweet thorn

O kings of the world of the spirit at your threshold

Are fallen in prostration and waiting for the fruit

Reason goes from reason, and even the spirit loses its spirit

When a tambourine of your love plays the strings

If the rose gardens had not found moisture from the water of your grace

No one would have seen the rose garden empty of flowers for years

My heart is annihilated in the radiance of my beloved

I cannot distinguish between my heart and my beloved

The soul is always proud from his desire in such a way

That it does not know pride and shame from intoxication

There is a cave, the soul of the monks of your love, secluded

The blessed monk has filled this cave with light

If the world becomes like pitch from the sorrow of your separation

It has a pride that it does not look at the tar

That union, which was like the staff of Moses, has now become a snake

O Moses-like union, seize this snake

O Lord, Sun of the Religion, from the fire of your separation

It is the envy of the eternal light, a hundred praises to this fire