غزل شمارهٔ 58

The king has come, the king has come; adorn the palace-hall; cut your forearms in honour of the fair one of Canaan.

Since the Soul of the soul of the soul has come, it is not meet to mention the soul; in his presence of what use is the soul, save as a sacrifice?

Without love I was one who had lost the way; of a sudden love entered. I was a mountain; I became a straw for the horse of the king.

Whether he be Turk or Tajik, this slave is near to him even as soul to body; only the body does not behold the soul.

Ho, my friends, good luck has arrived; the time has come for offering up the load; a Solomon has come to the throne, to depose Satan.

Leap from your place; why do you tarry? Why are you so helpless? If you know it not, seek from the hoopoe the way to Solomon’s palace.

There make your litanies, there utter your secrets and your needs; Solomon indeed knows the speech of all the birds.

Speech is a wind, O slave, and distracts the heart; but he commands it, “Gather together the scattered ones!”