غزل شمارهٔ 449

My soul, spiritual beauty is passing fair and glorious, yet your own beauty and loveliness is something beside.

You who spend years describing spirit, show one quality that is equal to his essence.

Through his phantasm the light of the eye increases, yet for all that in the presence of union with him it is clouded.

I stand open-mouthed in reverence for that beauty; every moment “God is greater” is on my tongue and in my heart.

The heart has acquired an eye constant in desire of you; ah, how that desire nourishes the heart and eye!

Speak not of houris and moon, spirit and peri, for these resemble Him not; He is something other.

Slave-caressing it is that your love has practised, else where is the heart that is worthy of that love?

Every heart that has been sleepless for one night in desire for you is bright as day, and the air by it is illumined.

Every one who has become without object is as your disciple; his object is realized without the form of object.

Every limb of hell who has burned and fallen into this love, has fallen into Kauthar, for your love is Kauthar.

My foot does not reach the ground out of hope for union, withal through separation from you my hand is on my head.

My heart, be not sorrowful at this oppression of foes, and meditate on this, that the Sweetheart is judge.

If my enemy is glad because of my saffron-pale face, is not my saffron-pale face derived from the red rose?

Since my Beloved’s beauty surpasses description, how fat is my grief, and how lean my praise!

Yes, since it is the rule that the more the pain of the wretched sufferer is, the less is his lament.

Shams-i D¯ın shone moonlike from Tabriz; no, what is the moon indeed? That face outshines the moon.