If the knowledge of the tavern were your intimate companion, this [formal] knowledge and science would be mere wind and caprice in your eyes;
And if the bird of the unseen cast its shadow upon you, the S¯ımor¯g of the world would be but a fly in your sight.
If the concourse-splendor of the king of reality displayed itself, this drum of the kings would be for you a jingling bell.
If the dawn of true felicity showed favor to you, how would your skirt and beard be in the hand of the night patrol?
If the leaders cast their protection on you, the thought that is before the heart would be behind.
If your heart’s ear did not hear things contrariwise, one letter of the book of lovers would be enough.
He says, “All are dead, not one has returned”; if that fool saw one who had returned, he would be a somebody.
The flame of your soul is trembling at the cold wind of death; it would not be trembling if it had borrowed fire from immortality.
If your worthless nature were not a fellow traveler of the worthless, this fatal draft would be in your throat like a choking straw.
This child of your intelligence would have reached “Blessed is He”; in the school of happiness why are you stuck at “he frowned?”
Silence, for all these things are dependent on the “moment”; if the “moment” were here, summons would come to your aid.
