غزل شمارهٔ 2779

Proclaim, O crier, at the head of every market, “Have you seen, Moslems, a runaway slave?

“A slave moonfaced, musk-scented, a troublemaker—swift of pace in time of coquetry, in time of peace slow.

“A boy, ruby-robed, charming of countenance, sugar-sweet, cypress-stature, saucy-eyed, acute, perfectly poised;

“In his bosom a rebec, in his hand a plucker; he plays a sweet air, charming, well-seated.

“Does anyone have a fruit of the garden of his beauty? Or a bunch of roses to smell from the rose bed of his loveliness?

“A Joseph by whose price the king of Egypt was bankrupted, on every side heart-wounded ones like Jacob by his glance.

“I will give freely my sweet life as lawful to whomever brings me a sign of him, or even a veiled hint.”