غزل شمارهٔ 2964

Yesterday I clutched his skirt saying, “O essence [jewel] of generosity, do not say goodnight, do not grieve us, for tonight you are mine.”

The darling face lit up and glowed red like a spark. He said, “That is enough; draw back. How long with this beggar’s ways?”

I said, “God’s Messenger said: ‘Seek your need of the handsome, if you desire to attain it.’”

He said, “The fair of face is self-willed and bad-tempered, for beauty permits plenty of airs and wickedness.”

I said, “If that is so, his wickedness is the life of the soul, because whenever you try it, it is the talisman of the mine.”

He said, “This is a raw talk; who is the handsome? This color and form is a snare, it is cunning and inconstancy.

“When a man possesses not the soul of the soul, know that he possesses not that; many a man delivers his soul with the form of mortality.”

I said, “Pretty of cheek, bring nonexistence into existence; change our copper to gold, you who are the soul of alchemy.

“Copper must yield itself to discover the alchemy: you are a grain of corn, but you are outside the mill.”

He said, “You are ungrateful, you are ignorant of copper; you are in doubt and conjecture from the things you show.”

I began weeping wretchedly. I said, “You have the rule, come to the succor of your lover, O source of light.”

When he saw his servant’s tears he began to laugh; East and West came to life through that grace and familiarity.

Fellow travelers and friends, weep like a cloud, so that fair ones may bring their sweet presence into the garden.