Rumi - The Song Of The Reed

The Song of the Reed is one of Rumi’s most iconic poems, a powerful metaphor for the soul's longing to reunite with its source. The poem speaks through the voice of the reed flute, lamenting its separation from the reed bed. It beautifully illustrates the human experience of yearning, love, and spiritual connection, reminding us of the deep longing within us to find unity and belonging.

Allow these words to guide you inward, offering a moment of reflection on the universal journey of the heart and soul.

Transcript

THE SONG OF THE REED by Rumi Translated by Sir William Jones Hear how yon reed is sadly pleasing tales,

Departed bliss and present woe bewails.

With me,

From native banks ultimately torn,

Love warbling youths and soft-eyed virgin morn.

O,

Let the heart,

By fatal absence rent,

Feel what I sing and bleed when I lament!

Who roams in exile from his parents' bower,

Plans to return and shides each lingering hour,

My notes,

In circles of the graves and gay,

Have hailed the rising,

Cheered the closing day.

Each in my fond affection claimed a part,

But none discerned the secret of my heart.

What thou,

My strains and sorrows flow combined,

Yet ears are slow and carnal eyes are blind.

Free though each mortal from the spirit's roll,

But slight avails not,

Can we see the soul?

Such notes breathe gently from your vocal frame.

Breathed,

Said I?

No,

It was an enlivening flame.

This love that fills the reed with warmth divine,

Is love that sparkles in the fancy,

Racy wine.

My plaintiff-wanderer,

From my peerless maid,

The reed has fired,

And all my soul betrayed.

He gives the bane,

And he,

With balsam cures,

Afflict yet soothes,

Impassions yet allures.

Delightful pangs his amorous tale prolong,

And laily's frantic lover lives in song.

Not he who reasons best this wisdom knows,

Ears only drink what rapturous tongues disclose.

Nor fruitless deem the reed's hard-piercing pain,

See sweetness dropping from departed cane.

Alternate hope and fear my days divine,

I courted grief,

And anguish was my bride.

Flow on,

Sad stream of life,

I smile secure,

Thou livest,

Thou the purest of the pure.

Rise,

Vigorous youth,

Be free,

Be nobly bold,

Shall chains confine you,

Thou they blaze with gold.

Go,

To your vase,

The gathered main convey,

What were your secrets,

The pittance of a day?

New plans for wealth you fancies would invert,

Yet shells,

To nourish pulls,

Must lie content.

The man whose robe loves purple aloe-rend,

Birds,

Avarice rest,

And toils tumultuous end.

Hail,

Heavenly love,

True source of endless gains,

Thy balm restores me,

And thy skill sustains.

O,

More than Galen learned,

Than Plato wise,

My guide,

My law,

My joy supreme arise.

Love warms this frigid clay with mystic fire,

And dancing mountains leap with young desire.

Blessed is the soul that swims in seas of love,

And long the love sustained by food above.

With forms imperfectly can perfection dwell?

Here pause my song,

And thou vain world,

Farewell.