(CONTINUED.) SAADIS’ BOOSTAN (FRUIT GARDEN OR GARDEN OF PLEASURE) Continued: CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE CANDLE AND THE MOTH: I remember one night lying sleepless in bed, That I heard what the moth to the fair candle said: “A lover am I, if I burn it is well! Why you should be weeping and burning, do tell.” “Oh my poor humble lover!” the candle replied, “My friend, the sweet honey away from we hied. When sweetness away from my body departs, A fire-like _Farhads_[76] to my summit then starts.” Thus she spoke, and each movement a torrent of pain Adown her pale cheeks trickled freely like rain. “Oh, suitor! with love you have nothing to do, Since nor patience, nor power of standing have you. Oh, crude one! a flame makes you hasten away; But I, till completely consumed, have to stay. If the burning of love makes your wings feel this heat, See how I am consumed, from the head to the feet!” But a very small portion had passed of the night When a fairy-fated maiden extinguished her[77] light. She was saying while smoke from her head curled above, “Thus ends, oh my boy, the existence of love!” If the love-making science you wish to acquire, You’re more happy extinguished than being on fire. Do not weep o’er the grave of the slain for the friend! Be glad! for to him He will mercy extend. If a lover, don’t wash the complaint from your head! * * * * * I have told you: don’t enter this ocean at all! If you do; yield your life to the hurricane squall! The above translation is from the hand of G. S. Davie but since this story is representative of Sufi love, I add another made by S. Robinson. I remember that one night, when I could not close my eyes in sleep, I heard the moth say to the taper. “I am a lover, therefore it is right that I should be burnt, but wherefore shouldst thou be lamenting and shedding tears?” It replied: “O my poor airy friend, my honey-sweet Shirin is going away; “And since my Shirin hath left me, like Ferhad’s,[78] my head is all on fire.” So spoke the taper, and each moment a flood of sorrow flowed down over its pale cheek. Then it continued: “O pretender, love is no affair of thine; for thou hast neither patience nor persistency. “Thou takest to flight before a slight flame; I stand firm till I am totally consumed. “Thou mayest just singe a wing at the fire of love; look at me, who burn from head to foot.” A part of the night was not yet gone, when suddenly a Peri-faced damsel extinguished the light. Then said the taper: “My breath is departed, the smoke is over my head;—such my son, is the ending of love!” If thou wouldst learn the moral of the story, it is this: Only will the pangs of burning affection cease, when life’s taper is extinct. Weep not over this monument of thy perished friend—rather praise Allah, that he is accepted by Him.