غزل شمارهٔ 7

With a song of agony, with a sweet, soft melody, to a dying world athirst Lo: life’s flagon I have burst.

In the way as beggars are Thou hast set that world ajar ere the ambition to attain Ever sprang in mortal brain.

‘Twas Thy surmah-shaded eye heart and soul were ravished by; O, the archery of it, with one shaft two marks to hit!

What a springtime of delight greets my underserving sight! Hear me in the meadow sing, like a new thrush caroling.

Not so strange, if monarchs, twain in one kingdom cannot reign, as that both the worlds are less than one dervish to possess.