The mystic way has been
a progress, a gowth in love.
It is a deliberate fostering
of the inward tendency of the soul
towards its source, an eradication
of its disorderly tendencies
to temporal goods.
But the only proper end
of love is union: a perfect
togetherness of the lover
and the loved.
It is not an act but a state.
Fresh life is imparted by which
our lives are made complete.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem