غزل شمارهٔ 196

Bring into motion your amber-scattering tress; bring into dancing the souls of the Sufis.

Sun, moon and stars dancing around the circle, we dancing in the midst—set that midst a-dancing.

Your grace minstrelwise with the smallest melody brings into the wheel the Sufiof heaven.

The breeze of spring comes hurrying, uttering a melody; it sets the world a-laughing, raises autumn from the dead.

Many a snake becomes a friend, rose partners thorn; the season of scattering largesse is come to the king of the orchard.

Every moment a perfume wafts from the garden like a message some whither, as if to say, “Cry welcome today to the friends!”

The orchard, departed into its secret heart, is speaking to you; do you depart into your own secret, that life may come to your soul,

That the lily’s bud may open its secret to the cypress, that the tulip may bring good tidings to willow and judas-tree,

That the secret of every young shoot may emerge from the depths, the ascensionists having set up a ladder in the garden.

The songbirds and nightingales are seated in the branches, like the guardian enjoying his stipend from the treasury;

These leaves are like tongues, these fruits like hearts—when the hearts show their faces, they give worth to the tongue.