غزل شمارهٔ 25

I am a blossom of the plain; carry me back from the avenue to mountain and wilderness again where air’s to breathe, and the vast to view.

Far from self I have gone astray, learnt me the foxy and furtive wont; carry me, helpers of the way, back to the reeds, my ancient haunt.

Once I had a word in my heart; now it has vanished from my breast; though I am old, let me depart back to the school that taught me best.

I am a hushed and silent lute; now in my head is a new, sweet air; O let my strings be no longer mute, take me to him whom will repair.

In this night that enshroudeth me sufficient sun is my ancient brand; take away from my dormitory the shuttered lamp that is in thy hand.

Lo, to the slaves I have declared true kingship’s innermost mystery; I am a slave who greatly erred; to the king for judgement O carry me!