غزل شمارهٔ 1919

This is love: to fly to heaven, every moment to rend a hundred veils;

At first instance, to break away from breath—first step, to renounce feet;

To disregard this world, to see only that which you yourself have seen.

I said, “Heart, congratulations on entering the circle of lovers,

“On gazing beyond the range of the eye, on running into the alley of the breasts.”

Whence came this breath, O heart? Whence came this throbbing, O heart?

Bird, speak the tongue of birds: I can heed your cipher!

The heart said, “I was in the factory whilst the home of water and clay was abaking.

“I was flying from the workshop whilst the workshop was being created.

“When I could no more resist, they dragged me; how shall I tell the manner of that dragging?”