Sol 5.6

  1. Take the reins, O my passion, and ride on with them.

    And cast my censor’s words aside as one casts off a shoe.

  2. Why did he not pity my sorrow and anguish,

    or stem my tears—the downpour and the drizzle?

  3. Were Beauty told, “Choose the one you would elect

    to be a crown for all the fair,” it would say, “This one.”

  4. O my two companions, if you approve my way,

    then both hold fast to its rein and take it up.

  5. And ask the sword of the glance about my creed—

    the spilling of blood—and who gave it edge and honed it.

  6. And ask the sweet mouth-nectar who made it flow

    among those incisors as sugar and tabarzad rock candy,

  7. and turned it into wine—then it was as though he had

    transmuted realities, a sorcerer and a conjurer.

  8. If he granted a favor, even in a dream, I would deem him

    for my grave affliction a healer and a giver of protective charms.

  9. Or if he withheld it, I would spare his noble person all punishment,

    surrendered, abased, yet savoring it.

  10. The fault is mine: I gave him power over my very soul,

    so he chose my death in his love and carried it out.

  11. Then let it delight me that I am the martyr—for everyone who

    perishes under ardent love’s decree is likewise so.

Sol 5.6