غزل شمارهٔ 69

How would it be, if my fair love should take my hand tomorrow, hang his head through the window like the lovely-featured moon?

If my life-augmenter enters, loosens my hands and feet?—For my hands and feet too are bound fast by the hand of fixed banishment.

Then I would say to him, “By your life I swear that without you, O life of my soul, gay company makes me not happy, neither does wine intoxicate me.”

Then if he replies coquettishly, “Be gone! What do you want of me? I fear that your melancholy may make me melancholic!”—

I would bring sword and windingsheet and bow my neck as a sacrificial offering, saying, “Your head is aching because of me; strike deliberately!

You know that I desire not to live without you; better for me is death than banishment, by God who brings the dead to life.

I never could believe that you would turn away from your servant; I ever said, the words spoken by my enemies are lying inventions.

You are my soul, and without my soul I know not how to live; you are my eyes, and without you I have not a seeing eye.”

Let go these words; minstrel, strike up an air; bring forward rebeck and tambourine, if you do not have a reed pipe.