غزل شمارهٔ 745

I have come to lay my face in the dust of the Beloved’s feet, I have come to beg pardon for a moment for my actions.

I have come to take up anew the service of His rosebower, I have come to bring fire and set my thorns alight.

I have come to get purification from the dust of all that has passed, to reckon my good deeds as evil as performed in the cause of my Beloved;

I have come with eyes weeping, that my eyes may behold paradise—fountains consisting of the love of that blandisher of mine.

Rise, disencumbered passion, take up love anew; I have died and become void of my old faith and unbelief;

For without your straining-cloth it is impossible to become unsullied in existence, without You it is impossible ever to escape from one’s sorrows and griefs.

Outwardly I have fallen silent; but You know that inwardly I have bloodstained speech in my blood-consuming heart.

In this state of silence examine well my face, that You may see on my cheeks a myriad traces of yourself.

I have shortened this ode; the rest of it is in my heart; I will utter it, if You intoxicate me with your vintner eye.

O silent from speaking, O you sundered from your mate, how did you become thus distraught from your clever reason?

Silent one, how are you faring with these fiery thoughts? Thoughts are arriving with their huge-panoplied army.

When people are alone, they are silent; one speaks with men, no one speaks the secret of his heart to door and wall.

Perchance you find no men to talk with, that you have fallen silent? Perchance you see no man to be intimate with your words?

Are you haply of the pure world? Do not you mix with material things, with dogs of natural being who are defiled with their own carrion?