When shall the mocking world withhold its blame
When shall the mocking world withhold its blame,
When shall men cease to darken thus my name,
Calling the love which is my pride, my shame!
O Judge, let me my condemnation see;
Whose names are written on my death decree?—
The names of all who have been friends to me.
What hope to reach the Well-Belovéd's door,
The dear lost dwelling that I knew of yore;
I stumbled once; I can return no more.
The joy of love no heart can feel alone,
The fire of love at first unseen, unknown,
In flames of love from either side is blown.
O Asif, tread thy pathway carefully
Across this difficult world; for, canst thou see,
A further journey is awaiting thee.
When shall men cease to darken thus my name,
Calling the love which is my pride, my shame!
O Judge, let me my condemnation see;
Whose names are written on my death decree?—
The names of all who have been friends to me.
What hope to reach the Well-Belovéd's door,
The dear lost dwelling that I knew of yore;
I stumbled once; I can return no more.
The joy of love no heart can feel alone,
The fire of love at first unseen, unknown,
In flames of love from either side is blown.
O Asif, tread thy pathway carefully
Across this difficult world; for, canst thou see,
A further journey is awaiting thee.
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