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Look! It is the time of autumn, and the wind is blowing; the leaves, crisp and yellow, are preparing their adieu. Now look again! The dervish has stopped whirling and is on his knees; the wine in his cup is finished, and the Saki has left.
He has retired to his lodge where the wind is teasing the candle’s flame. He cannot go back to fill the cups: he has become intoxicated by the sight of spinning. Who has the eyes to look into his heart and say if he was (not) envious of the dervish who seeks closeness to his god through elaborate whirling?
And while you were contemplating this question, you forgot about the leaves. They have fallen; and look yet again! They too are whirling; some Saki filled their cups with the winds of autumn.
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