غزل شمارهٔ 69

This ancient universe new youth must now rehearse, its trembling blade of grass huge mountains should surpass.

The handful of poor clay that did a glance display all-viewing, in the brain must shape a cry of pain.

Our aged moon and sun the course have never run; Fresh stars we must pursue to build the world anew.

Each image of delight that dawns upon my sight is fair; yet fairer still the image that I will.

God said, ‘The world so lies, and say not otherwise’; said Adam, ‘So I see; but thus it ought to be!’