I looked into the cup when it was still,My heart aglow with hope, with smiling will;
Till in its depths she saw a likeness rise,And figures gathering before her eyes;
As though a jinn had whispered in her ear,Revealing secrets of the heart to hear;
She went on weaving, with her clever mind,A tale whose speech was sweet and finely timed;
This is your heart, beloved—look and see:Those lines a hidden secret seem to be;
This is his passion, kindled from your breast,Love's warmth—a love that wounds as well as blessed;
Those shadows are the dreams of long desireThat hover round the heart and still aspire;
Await your lover's coming, for his heartYearns toward you, aching, torn apart;
Like light that glitters in the world agleam,He guides the wand'ring staff toward your dream;
How many lovers hope that they may findSome revelation to relieve the mind;
That prophecy may hold a grain of truth,Yet proves no argument conclusive proof;
They thought foretelling woven through our daysWould lift the veil from hidden secret ways;
The astrologer's lie, could fate be shown,Would raise from his dominion what is known;
Yet souls may heal and rise to higher spheres,And see the spirits bathed in radiant years;
Do not suppose the cup heaven's mirror holds—Far from it; mystery its secret folds.
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