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Now hear this, lovers, my friends

Now hear this, lovers, my friends:
Love is a precious thing;
It doesn’t grace everyone.
Love is a decorous thing.

It makes ash heaps out of hills,
Into hearts it blazes trails,
Turns sultans into vassals–
Love is a courageous thing.

The man struck by love’s arrow
First feels no pain nor sorrow,
But then weeps and screams with woe:
Love is a torturous thing.

It makes the seas rage and boil,
Throws huge waves into turmoil,
And makes rocks speak from the soil:
Love is a vigorous thing.

Mystic Yunus is helpless;
No one fells for his distress.
His feast is the Friends’s caress:
Love is a delicious thing.