Four Rumi poems, in a translation from 1903

William Hastie rendered the Divan into Victorian English. The strangeness of the diction is part of why these still land.

By Sovandarapor (James) Kong · 2026-08-18 · Nondual

Most Rumi in English arrives smoothed out. These are from William Hastie's The Festival of Spring, published in Glasgow in 1903, which is old enough that nobody has sanded the corners off it yet. The capitalised nouns and the inverted lines are Victorian habits. Read past them and the argument underneath is completely direct.

I have kept the punctuation as printed.

The Soul in All

A mote I in the Sunshine, yet am the Sun's vast Ball;
I bid the Sun spread Sunlight, and make the Mote be small.
I am the Morning Splendour; I am the Evening Breeze;
I am the Leaf's soft Rustle; the Billow's Rise and Fall.
I am the Mast and Rudder, the Steersman and the Ship;
I am the Cliff out-jutting, the Reef of Coral Wall.
I am the Bird Ensnarer, the Bird and Net as well;
I am both Glass and Image; the Echo and the Call.
I am the Tree and Branches, and all the Birds thereon;
I am both Thought and Silence, Tongues' Speech, and Ocean Squall.
I am the Flute when piping, and Man's Soul breathing breath;
I am the sparkling Diamond, and Metals that enthrall.

That is the whole nondual position stated as a list of objects. Not the observer of the scene. The scene.

Mystical Union

With Thy sweet Soul, this Soul of mine
Hath mixed as Water doth with Wine.
Who can the Wine and Water part,
Or me and Thee when we combine?
Thou art become my greater Self;
Small Bounds no more can me confine.
Thou hast my Being taken on,
And shall not I now take on Thine?
Me Thou for ever hast affirmed,
That I may ever know Thee mine.
Thy Love has pierced me through and through,
Its Thrill with Bone and Nerve entwine.

Water and wine is a better image than most of the modern ones, because it does not pretend the two were always identical. Something was poured into something.

Identity

Although thy Brightness glistens in the Sun, indeed;
Yet is my Light with thine all radiant, One, indeed!
Thou mad'st of Dust all glitt'ring the circling Heavens above;
Yet will with mine thy Spirit ne'er Union shun, indeed!
To Dust return the Heavens; again Heavens spring from Dust;
Yet hast thou in my Being thy own Life spun, indeed!
Now have the Words Eternal that through Heaven's vastness ring,
Found Home in human Bosom, and dearer none, indeed!

Renovation

Come, O Springtide of my Love: the World, again, make New!
Light in Heaven and Flowers on Earth, o'er Hill and Plain, make New!
With the blue gleaming Sun-gem, set thy new green Turban on;
And o'er the Fields all verdant, thy floral Train, make New!
Paint Meadows fresh with bright Buds, let Hedgerows sprout once more;
Rose Breast-Knots, slender Lilies in bathing Rain, make New!
Melt with thy warm Breath Winter's iced Coat and frozen Spear;
With tender Smile shame Hatred; Peace, ending Pain, make New!

Hastie was a Scottish theologian who came to Rumi late and translated him partly to argue with the Victorian taste for Omar Khayyam. He thought the fatalism was overrated and said so at length in his introduction. The poems survive the argument.

All four are from The Festival of Spring, from the Divan of Jelaleddin, translated by William Hastie, James MacLehose and Sons, Glasgow, 1903. The book is in the public domain.