غزل شمارهٔ 532

Advice from anyone is never of profit to lovers; love is not the kind of torrent that anyone can dam up.

No man of intellect will ever know the head’s ecstasy of the drunkard; no man of reason will ever know the heart’s rapture of the reason-lost.

Kings would become indifferent to kingship if they caught a whiff of those wines which lovers drink in the heart’s assembly.

Khusrau bids farewell to his kingdom for the sake of Sh¯ır¯ın; Farh¯ad too for her sake strikes the axe against the mountain.

Majn¯un flees from the circle of men of intellect for love of Lail¯a; V¯amiq laughed at the mustachios of every puffed-up man.

Frozen is the life that has passed without that sweet spirit; rotten is the kernel that is oblivious of this almond-cake.

If yonder heaven were not spinning bewildered and in love like us, it would grow weary of its revolving, and say, “It is enough for me; how long, how long?”

The world is like a reed pipe, and He blows in its every hole; truly its every lament derives from those two sugarsweet lips.

Behold how, when He blows into every clod, every heart, He bestows a need, He bestows a passion which raises lamentation of anguish.

If you tear the heart away from God, to whom will you then commit it? Tell me this. Soulless is the person who has been able to tear his heart away from God for a single moment.

I will make enough; go you nimbly, by night climb on to this roof; raise a fair clamour in the city, my soul, with a loud voice!