غزل شمارهٔ 730

Behold, those birds which lay golden eggs every morning saddle the swift colt of the skies.

When they gallop, the seventh heaven is their arena; when they sleep, they {make their pillow} the sun and the moon.

They are fishes, in the soul of each one of which is a Jonah; they are rosebushes which beautify and order well the skies.

Hell-tasters, heaven-givers, on the day of resurrection they are the rulers, they know neither any blessing nor utter any imprecation.

They set the mountains dancing of subtlety in the air, and convert the seas in sweetness to be like sweet sugar.

They make bodies souls, and souls everlasting; they make stones into ruby mines, and unbelief into faith.

They are more manifest than all, and more hidden than all; if you wish to behold them, they make themselves visible before your eyes.

If you wish to behold clearly, make surmeh {collyrium} of the dust of their feet; for they cause him who was blind from his mother’s womb to see the way.

If you are a thorn, be sharp of point as a thorn in the quest, that they may convert your whole thorn into the likeness of roses and eglantine.

If there were scope for speech, I would utter things that may be spoken, so that the spirits and the angels would applaud out of heaven.