My sweet, Never, shall I grow weary of you;
I grow weary, only when I don't see you.
I can see that is contentment in our being sad
how will the heartless grow weary of sadness?
What a bloodthirsty and cold one is this heart! that
of tears, my eyes have not grown weary
If you have had it with this world, come,
for noone has grown weary of my world!
As I witness your love inspired consent,
I grow weary of saying "no, nay and not!"
The master of my pains is the angel of resurrection of the worlds;
Coming half from the soul-breath and half from low and high pitches of sound!
When that sweet smell of soulwine hit my brain,
O inner Self, Of worldy power I grew weary
With every moment, as this madness grows,
[know that] those who don’t tire of "more and less" are misers
As soon as I saw the dice and cup, I become Him
And grew weary of the overturned cup
As the Thought of Shams came upon me and
filled with me with love, of my own existence I grew weary!