غزل شمارهٔ 2319

That stranger-beloved of mine has returned to the house; today gaze about and behold strange forms!

See the faithful friends, see the brethren of purity, dancing because that treasure has returned to the ruin.

O eye, behold the garden; ear, gather the words, open your sweet lips, beloved of fair legend.

Saki today unsparingly pour the immortal wine; what does the sea diminish through those two or three measures?

Measure and measure in wine is not duality, if you want it to become one, break the two measures.

I am a falcon of the hunt, beloved, do not keep me in bonds; I will be no more like an owl in a ruin.

I am not content with you, patience has strayed from my heart; go, speak to another, I will not listen to your fable.

I am a grain of the skies, for a while I am in this earth; when the justice of spring comes the grain becomes green.

You are the bane of birds; of that grain which you know, you scatter a handful from a garner full of grain.

You who have given me lustre a hundredfold like the blue sky, beloved, answer frankly, is this so or not?

Beloved, once more shake the chain and from afar gaze upon the madmen.

This is the very rose bower of fortune, Lord, what a tree is this! A hundred drunken nightingales every moment make their nest here.

The soul comes, being dragged by the ear; the heart comes to the lovely ones, because spring has come and that stranger December has gone.