غزل شمارهٔ 581

The month of December has departed, and January too; come, for the spring has come, the earth is green and joyous, the time of the tulips has come.

See how the trees stagger and shake their hands as if drunk! The zephyr has recited a spell, so that the rosebower cannot rest.

The nenuphar said to the jasmine, “See how twisted together I am!” The blossoms said to the meadow, “The grace of the Omnipotent has descended.”

The violet genuflected when the hyacinth bowed humbly, when the narcissus gave a wink, saying, “A time for taking note has come.”

What did the tossing willow say, that it became light-headed with drunkenness? What did that fair-statured cypress behold, that it departed and returned firm of foot?

The painters have taken the brush, with whose hands my soul is intoxicated, for their lovely imageries have lent beauty to the grove.

Thousands of sweet-feathered birds seated on their pulpits are praising and reciting lauds, that the time of divulging has come.

When the soul’s bird says “Y¯a H¯u!” the ringdove replies “Where, where?” The former says, “Since you have not caught the scent, your portion is waiting.”

The roses are bidden to show their hearts; it is not seemly to hide the heart, when the unveiling of the friend of the cave has come.

The rose said to the nightingale, “Look at the green lily— though it has a hundred tongues, it is steadfast and keeps its secret.”

The nightingale replied, “Go forth, be busy disclosing my secret, for this love which I possess is reckless like you.”

The plane-tree lowered its face to the vine—“Prostrate one, stand up!” The vine answered, “This prostrating of mine is not voluntary.

I am pregnant with that draught which smites at the drunkards; my inward is as fire, your outward is mere plane.”

The saffron came forth gay, the mark of lovers on its cheek; the rose pitied it and said, “Ah, this poor creature, how abject it is!”

This encounter reached the ears of the laughing-faced, ruby apple, which said to the rose, “It knows not that the Beloved is longsuffering.”

When the apple advanced this claim, that “I think well of the Lord,” to put it to the proof stones rained from every side.

Someone stoned him; if he was a true lover, he laughs; why should not Sh¯ır¯ın laugh when pelted by Khusrau?

The throwing of clods by the fair ones is meant for calling the lover; the cruelty of lovers to one another is not a sign of aversion.

If Zulaikh¯a that moment tore Joseph’s shirt and collar, know that it was in sport and play that she unveiled his secret.

The apple absorbs the blow and comes not down, saying, “I am happy hanging here, for this honour of being hung on high has come upon me, like Mans.¯ur.

I am Mans.¯ur hanging from the branch of the gallows of the All-Merciful; such kissing and embracing has come upon me far from the lips of the vile ones.”

Ho, kissing is done with; hide your heart like a turnover; within the breast utter secretly the words innumerable.