غزل شمارهٔ 2091

O seven seas, bestow pearls and transmute these things of brass;

O candle of drunkards and cypress of the garden, how long these tricks? At last keep faith.

Every granite rock wept for us, Beloved; cure this our pain.

You angrily turned away your face; for a moment have done with this behavior.

You once showed much beneficence and humanity; redouble that humanity.

Fair of course, O moon and star, be generous in the darkness of night like the moon.

Separate from us the ancient pain, the anguish of sickness, and the orphan’s dust.

Though I be in paradise, in gold and silver, without you I am an orphan; cure me.

I have closed my lips and sat in sorrow; open my hand, make for encounter.