For more about the Persian Sufi Mahmud Shabistari and his important work, The Garden of Mystery, please see this post.
Intoxicated from the pure draught
which I had drained to the dregs,
in the bare dust I fell.
Since then I don’t know if I exist or not;
but I am not sober, nor am I ill or drunken.
Sometimes, like His eye, I am full of joy,
or, like His curl, I am waving;
Sometimes — alas! — from habit or nature,
I am lying on a dust heap.
Sometimes, at a glance from Him,
I am back in the Rose Garden.
Translation by Florence Lederer