غزل شمارهٔ 1692

Lord, what a Beloved is mine! I have a sweet quarry; I possess in my breast a hundred meadows from his reed.

When in anger the messenger comes and repairs towards me, he says, “Whither are you fleeing? I have business with you.”

Last night I asked the new moon concerning my Moon. The moon said, “I am running in his wake, my foot is in his dust.”

When the sun arose I said, “How yellow of face you are!” The sun said, “Out of shame for his countenance I have a face of gold.”

“Water, you are prostrate, you are running on your head and face.” Water said, “Because of his incantation I move like a snake.”

“Noble fire, why do you writhe so?” Fire said, “Because of the lightning of his face my heart is restless.”

“Wind-messenger of the world, why are you light of heart?” Wind said, “My heart would burn if the choice were mine.”

“Earth, what are you meditating, silent and watchful?” Earth said, “Within me I have a garden and spring.”

Pass over these elements, God is our succorer; my head is aching, in my hand I hold wine.

If you have barred sleep to us, the way of intoxication is open. Since I have one to assist, he offers wine in both hands.

Be silent, that without this tongue the heart may speak; when I hear the speech of the heart, I feel ashamed of this speech.