غزل شمارهٔ 101

Wine and hidden pleasure, what are they? Baseless work. On the ranks of profligates we dashed. What is fit to be-be!

Unloose the heart’s knot; and, think not of the sky: For such a knot, the thought of no geometrician hath loosed.

At Time’s changes, wonder not. For the sphere Recollecteth many a thousand tales of this.

With respect, take the goblet. For its composition Is of the skull of Jamshid, of Bahman, and of Kubad.

Where Kawoos and Kay went, who is informed? How Jamshid’s throne went to the wind who is informed?

From passion for Shirin’s lip, yet I see That, from the blood of Farhad’s eye, the tulip blossometh.

Perchance the tulip knew Time’s unfaithfulness: For, since she was torn and become, from out of her hand she hath not placed the cup of wine.

Come! come! so that, awhile, with wine ruined we may become: Perchance, to that great fortune, we may, in this ruined place, reach.

For wandering and journeying, me, permission give not The breeze of Musalla’s dust, and the water of Roknabad.

Like Hafez take not the cup save to the sound of the harp: For, to the silk of joy, they have bound the glad heart.