The hour is late, the hour is late, the sun has gone down into the well, the sun of the soul of lovers has entered the seclusion of God.
A day is hidden in night, a Turk is amongst Hindus; night, launch your assaults, for that Turk is in the tent.
If you catch a glimpse of this brightness, you will set sleep afire; for by night-faring and servitude Venus became the companion of the moon.
We are fleeing by night and running apace, and the Zangis are on our track, for we carried off the gold, and the watchman became aware.
We have learned nightfaring and consumed a hundred watchmen; our cheeks are lit up like candles because that pawn of ours has become king.
Happy indeed is that smiling one who has pressed cheek against that cheek! Great and glorious is that heart which has departed unto that Sweetheart!
Who is there on the path of the heart who has not a sigh in his heart? That man is truly successful who is drowned in that sigh.
When he is drowned in the sea, the sea carries him up to the surface, like Joseph of the well who emerged from the well to greatness.
They say, “Man’s origin is the dust, and he returns to the dust.” How should he become dust who is the dust of this doorway?
The crops appear all of one kind until the harvest-time arrives; one half of it has become fine grain, the other half is chaff.
