'Tis writ on Paradise's gate, Woe to the dupe that yields to fate!

Only heart to heart can speak the bliss of mystic knowers.

Let tenderness pour from your eyes, the way sun gazes warmly on earth.

The world is like an eye, a beard, a spot of beauty and eyebrow, Where each thing is neatly in place.

Everyone, whether he is self-denying or self-indulgent, is seeking after the Beloved. Every place may be the shrine of love, whether it be mosque or synagogue.

Run my dear, from anything that may not strengthen your precious budding wings. Run like hell my dear, from anyone likely to put a sharp knife into the sacred, tender vision of your beautiful heart.

Oh, you who are trying to learn the marvel of Love through the copy book of reason, I'm very much afraid that you will never really see the point.