Quand la fleur du soleil, la rose de Lahor,
De son âme odorante a rempli goutte à goutte
La fiole d'argile ou de cristal ou d'or,
Sur le sable qui brûle on peut l'épandre toute.
Les fleuves et la mer inonderaient en vain
Ce sanctuaire étroit qui la tint enfermée:
Il garde en se brisant son arôme divin
Et sa poussière heureuse en reste parfumée!
Puisque par la blessure ouverte de mon cœur
Tu t'écoules de même, ô céleste liqueur,
Inexprimable amour, qui m'enflammais pour elle!
Qu'il lui soit pardonné, que mon mal soit béni!
Par delà l'heure humaine et le temps infini
Mon cœur est embaumé d'une odeur immortelle!
When the flower of the sun, the rose of Lahor,
has, drop by drop, with its fragrant soul, filled
the phial of china, of crystal or of gold,
one can scatter it all on the burning sand.
In vain the rivers and the sea would flood
this narrow sanctuary which held it enclosed:
it keeps its divine aroma when withering
and its fortunate dust is still perfumed by it.
Since, through the open wound of my heart
you likewise trickle, o celestial fluid,
inexpressible love, which inflamed me for her,
may she be forgiven, may my pain beblessed!
Beyond the human hour and infinite time
my heart is embalmed with an immortal fragrance!
© translated by Christopher Goldsack
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