Last night I pleaded with a star to intercede:
I said, 'My being is at the moon's service.'

Bowing, I added, 'Take this plea to the sun
Who makes rocks gold with his fire.'

Bearing the wounds on my breast, I cried,
'The Beloved, Whose drink is blood, must know!'

Like a child, I rocked my heart asleep
As a child does when its cradle sways.

Give my heart milk, stay its tears - you
Who help a hundred like me at every moment.

The heart's home is your city of union:
How long will you condemn mine to exile?

My head aches; there's nothing more I can say.
O cup-bearer, my troubled eye grows drunk!

-- Version by James Cowan, "Rumi's Divan of Shems of Tabriz,
Selected Odes", Element Books Limited 1997