Rumi calls his beloved to lead him
to the sema and thus to the sphere of love
O come, o come! you are the soul
of the soul of the sou! of whirling!
O come! You are the cypress tall
in the blooming garden of whirling!
O come! For there has never been
and will never be one like you!
O come! Such one has never seen
the longing eye of whirling!
O come! The fountain of the sun
is hidden under your shadow!
You own a thousand Venus stars
in the circling heavens of whirling!
The whirling sings your praise and thanks
with a hundred eloquent tongues:
I'll try to say just one, two points
translating the language of whirling.
For when you enter in the dance
you then leave both these worlds.
For outside these two worlds there lies
the universe, endless, of whirling.
The roof is high, the lofty roof
which is in the seventh sphere,
but far beyond this roof has reached
the ladder, the ladder of whirling!
Whatever there appears but He,
you tread on that in dancing:
The whirling, see, belongs to you
and you belong to the whirling.
What can I do when Love appears
and puts its claw round my neck?
I grasp it, take it to my breast
and drag it into the whirling.
And when the bosom of the motes
is filled with the glow of the sun:
They enter all the dance, the dance
and do not complain in the whirling!
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