پارسایی را دیدم به محبّتِ شخصی گرفتار، نه طاقتِ صبر و نه یارایِ گفتار. چندان که ملامت دیدی و غَرامت کشیدی، ترکِ تَصابی نگفتی و گفتی:
کوته نکنم ز دامنت دست
ور خود بزنی به تیغِ تیزم
بعد از تو مَلاذ و مَلْجَائی نیست
هم در تو گریزم، ار گریزم
باری، ملامتش کردم و گفتم: عقلِ نفیست را چه شد تا نفسِ خسیس غالب آمد؟ زمانی به فکرت فرو رفت و گفت:
هر کجا سلطانِ عشق آمد، نماند
قوّتِ بازویِ تقویٰ را محل
پاکدامن چون زِیَد بیچارهای
اوفتاده تا گریبان در وَحَل؟
I saw a religious man, who had fallen in love with a fellow to such a degree that he had neither strength to remain patient nor to bear the talk of the people but would not relinquish his attachment, despite of the reproaches he suffered and the grief he bore, saying:
I shall not let go my hold of thy skirt Even if thou strike me with a sharp sword. After thee I have no refuge nor asylum. To thee alone I shall flee if I flee.
I once reproached him, asking him what had become of his exquisite intellect so that it had been overcome by his base proclivity. He meditated a while and then said:
‘Wherever love has become sultan Piety’s arm has no strength left. How can a helpless fellow live purely Who has sunk up to his neck in impurity?’