On that night the moonlight was well-measured;
In my mental garden Yourself I have seen.
Stirring a flower's sweetness,
With a honeyed countenance You were smiling.
In the universe whatever is attractive,
Anything that is good, fit to be sought after,
In You it is contained, in You it is situated;
It longs for You only, at somewhere hard to reach.
I also, I am Yours, oh Beauty Sculptor;
Don't far-discard my love.
To place on Thee, a floral wreath is strung;
I have kept it in existence, painstakingly.
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If now worthy, take it please. On a string of lifetimes I've been strung.
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