غزل شمارهٔ 1145

Look on me, for I shall be your companion in the grave on that night when you pass across from shop and house.

You will hear my greeting in the tomb, and you will be aware that not for a moment you have been veiled from my eyes.

I am like reason and mind within your veil, alike in time of pleasure and happiness and in the hour of pain and weariness.

On the strange night, when you hear the voice familiar, you will escape from the bite of snake and leap away from the horror of ant;

Love’s intoxication will bring to your grave, as a gift, wine and mistress and candle and meats and sweets and incense.

On the hour when we light the lamp of the intellect, what a tumult of joy shall go up from the dead in the tombs!

The dust of the graveyard will be confounded by those cries, by the din of the drum of resurrection, the pomp and panoply of the uprising—

Shrouds rent asunder, two ears stopped up in terror; what shall avail brain and ear before the blast of the trumpet?

On whatever side you gaze, you will behold my form, whether you gaze on yourself or towards that uproar and confusion.

Flee from squinteyedness, and make good both your eyes, for the evil eye on that day will be far from my beauty.

Beware of mistaking me in a human shape, for the spirit is very subtle, and Love is exceedingly jealous.

What room is there for form, if the felt be a hundredfold? It is the rays of the soul’s mirror that pitch the flag visibly.

Beat the drum, and wind towards the minstrels of the city; it is the day of purification to the grown lads of the road of Love.

Had they sought God, instead of morsel and pence, you would not have seen one blind man seated on the edge of the moat.

What sort of ogling-house have you opened in our city! Mouth shut, shoot out glances, like light.