غزل شمارهٔ 440

In the morning, to the breeze, I uttered the tale of my longing ; The address (of reply) came saying: "A relier be on the favours of Lordship."

(O darvish !) the key of the treasure of purpose is the prayer of the morning, and the sigh of the evening ; By this path and way, go; so that, with the Heart-possessor (God), thou mayst join.

Not that tongue is the reed's that love's (great) mystery it may unfold, Beyond the limit of narration, is the explanation of longing.

Ho! O Yusuf of Egypt (the beloved), whom sovereignty (of Egypt) kept engaged ! Ask the father (Yakub), where went at last filial love ?

In the nature of the beautiful, old world, compassion is none ; From its love, what seekest thou? In it, what desire attachest thou?

A Huma like thee, lofty of rank, and greed for the (rotten) bone how long ? Alas that shadow of fortune, that, on the mean, thou castest.

In this market (of the world), if a profit there be. 'tis with the happy darvish: O God ! me, happy make with darvishness, and with happiness.

To the verse of Hafiz of Shiraz, dance and whirl Those dark of eye of Kashmir, and the saucy ones of Samarkand.