غزل شمارهٔ 1429

I am not that luckless lover, to flee from the Beloved; I do not hold that dagger in my hand to flee from battle.

I am that plank with which the carpenter has much to do, I do not shrink from the axe or flee from the nails.

I am unselfed like a plank, I think not to oppose the axe; I am fit only for the flames if I flee from the carpenter.

I am as a worthless and cold stone if I do not journey oft to rubiness; I am as a dark and narrow cave if I flee from the Companion of the Cave.

I do not feel the kiss of the peach if I flee from leaflessness; I do not catch the scent of Tartary musk if I flee from the Tartar.

I am distressed with myself because I am not contained; it is meet, when the head is not contained, if I flee from the turban.

Many centuries are required for this fortune to emerge; where shall I find it again, if this time I flee?

It is not that I am sick and unmanly, that I shun the fair ones; it is not that my bowels are corrupt, that I flee from the vintner.

I am not mounted on a packsaddle to remain then in the arena; I am not a farmer of this village, to flee from the Prince.

I say, “My heart, have done”; my heart replies, “I am in the quarry of gold, why should I flee from the lavishing of riches?”