غزل شمارهٔ 24

The juice that maketh tulips spring within the heart – a bumper bring, Saki! And let the April gust scatter at will my body’s dust.

I drank the West’s enamelled bowl, and darkness settled o’er my soul; O give me sight to see the way and where I went so sore astray.

Upon the wave of every breeze like chaff I turned as it might please; tumultuous beats the heart of me with vain surmise; give certainty!

My spirit’s fretful small desire glows wanly as a spark of fire; give me desire of heart’s delight, a star to shine upon my night.

Thou gavest in my hand a pen skilful to paint a king of men; thou madest me a scribe; then give a tablet, that my creed may live!