غزل شمارهٔ 32

Upon the road of high desire my load yet lieth in the mire, because my heart would still engage with trappings, caravan, and stage.

Where is the lightning of the gaze that shall my dwelling burn and raze? Fain would I yet a bargain keep with what men sow, and what men reap.

O let this layman’s vessel ride upon a full, tempestuous tide: The wave affrighteth me so sore; I fix my gaze upon the shore.

Ah, what adventure is to gain – to quiver, never to attain: Thrice happy he, who even now behind the train doth riding go.

But he who never knew his heart from the two worlds to dwell apart; he still bemused and cheated is by unsubstantial images.

A single, brief epiphany consoleth not the passionate eye: Where shall I take the wounding dart that pricketh even yet my heart?

In the glad presence of the friend a history is that hath no end, as still these sorrows yet unsaid lie in my heart deep-buried.