1. She described to us the nectar and its cup,
And its dew and churn and press,

2. And the field and the farmer walking in it
When evening falls, tending the roaming flock.

3. And I stood by the roaring sea,
Then came back with words a raging ocean.

4. You painted in parchment such that consciousness
So you captivated us, even the sorcerer.

5. And you showed us in every wasteland a meadow,
And you showed us in every meadow a bird.

6. But if a man asked a woman about you,
You would see a confused one addressing a confused one.

7. Who are you, oh this? I said to her I am
Like electricity, unseen yet seen.

8. By your life, she said, you have led my soul astray.
It would not have hurt you to describe the poet.

9. So I answered her: He is one who questions himself
About himself morning and evening.

10. And the eye is the secret of its slumber and waking,
And the heart is the secret of its despair and hope.

11. So he hesitates between his coming and going,
And hesitates between his front and his back.

12. And he sees the star set before his own setting,
And he sees the fading of a thing before his own fading.

13. And he walks in the most fertile garden, yet his eyes see
Nothing but the thorns in its corners.

14. If he sleeps, the cares of his soul do not slumber,
And when he wakes you see him wandering.

15. He does not care about our laughter or crying,
And his own laughing and crying frighten us.

16. Like fire, his mind consumes the passions
So it kills them, and he dies in his wasteland.

17. She said, “Do you know who you have described?” I said, “Who?”
She said, “You have described the infidel philosopher.”

18. Oh poet of the world, and in you is wisdom,
It would not have hurt you to describe the poet.

19. So I said: He is one who loves wild plants
As he loves flirting with virgins.

20. When she is done with the flagon
He imagines the time itself is done.

21. He woos it by lamplight, but if
It sets in daylight...

22. And he sees the people’s celebration as a funeral
Without wine, and their paradise as hell.

23. Fickle, loyal to nothing,
Yet loyal to no enmity.

24. A fox at heart, yet no will,
Ascetic, yet only pretending asceticism.

25. He tends to jesting and fun
Even between glances and swords.

26. And he almost giggles at a funeral
And dances like storms in the desert.

27. When the eye of the author falls on him
It has fallen on a suspicious man.

28. His friends rebuke yet he does not repent,
And old age warns yet he does not repent.

29. So she said: “You have brought excellent words,
But you have described none but the villain.”

30. And I feared her turning away, so I said: “Then
He is one who always weeps for the times,

31. As if none but he in the world remains a youth
Exposed to the calamities of fate and ordeals.

32. He complains of illness though nothing ails his body
And it is youth that keeps company with decline.

33. And estrangement though he is free in spirit and body,
And captivity while free in soul and flesh.

34. And he sees no beauty on earth to befriend
Or desire, though much beauty on earth there is.

35. He laments in the meadow though leaves are budding
As he laments ruins and relics.

36. She interrupted me, saying: “You have taken us far away!
What are the attributes of the able poet?”

37. I said: “Patience, if I stray, and pardon me,
Sometimes the wise one errs and strays.”

38. “He is one whose hands depict beauty
So we see it lovelier in his image.

39. “A wanton spirit plays the heart’s strings
In sport if he wishes to be amused.

40.
“And he shows us what will not remain as if it will remain

41. And shows us what will not last as if it will last.
“He mints the stars as currency for the people

42. While complaining how the purse has been entrusted.
“So what more can I seek or you desire

43. To describe?” The beautiful one said: “No more!
“Oh this! I am tired of describing him

44. And unable to fathom his depths.
“Wine cannot enumerate its attributes

45. Nor the garden describe its blooms and plants.
“He is one we see walking above the earth

46. As if above his heart are his footsteps.
“If he laments, then souls are in his laments,

47. And if he sings, then love is in his melodies.
“He weeps with the flute for his homelands

48. And shares the sorrowful one’s laments.
“And days change the heart of his amour

49. While he remains constant with the heart of his amour.
“He lives for others, yet thinks