The above translation is from the hand of G. S. Davie but since this story is representative of Sufi love, I add another made by S. Robinson.
I remember that one night, when I could not close my eyes in sleep, I heard the moth say to the taper.
“I am a lover, therefore it is right that I should be burnt, but wherefore shouldst thou be lamenting and shedding tears?”
It replied: “O my poor airy friend, my honey-sweet Shirin is going away;
“And since my Shirin hath left me, like Ferhad’s,[78] my head is all on fire.”
So spoke the taper, and each moment a flood of sorrow flowed down over its pale cheek.
Then it continued: “O pretender, love is no affair of thine; for thou hast neither patience nor persistency.
“Thou takest to flight before a slight flame; I stand firm till I am totally consumed.
“Thou mayest just singe a wing at the fire of love; look at me, who burn from head to foot.”
A part of the night was not yet gone, when suddenly a Peri-faced damsel extinguished the light.