غزل شمارهٔ 38

The fine science thou dost learn after vision does not yearn; ‘tis no wanderer far astray, but a straggler on the way.

He, whose all-embracing brain a new universe doth plan burneth still with passion’s fire, never lacketh high desire.

Though Love made the moon to err on the road a wayfarer, never blazeth in its breast the vast furnace of unrest.

So His beauty doth entrance, I can never lift my glance from His Face, who heedlessly doth not a glance spare for me.

See, Iqbal in manly clothes to his worldly labour goes; proving that his dervishood ne’er depends on gown and hood.