He comes, a moon whose like the sky ne’er saw, awake or dreaming. Crowned with eternal flame no flood can lay. Lo, from the flagon of thy love, O Lord, my soul is swimming, And ruined all my body’s house of clay! When first the Giver of the grape my lonely heart befriended, Wine fired my bosom and my veins filled up; But when his image all min eye possessed, a voice descended: ‘Well done, O sovereign Wine and peerless Cup!’ Love’s mighty arm from roof to base each dark abode is hewing, Where chinks reluctant catch a golden ray. My heart, when Love’s sea of a sudden burst into its viewing, Leaped headlong in, with ‘Find me now who may!’ As, the sun moving, clouds behind him run, All hearts attend thee, O Tabriz’s Sun!