غزل شمارهٔ 1380

Yesterday my darling placed a golden crown on my head; however many blows you may strike, it will not fall from my head.

The cap-stitching king of eternity from his brows on my brows sets the nightcap of love, so of course it remains for ever.

And even if my head does not remain with the cap, I will become all head like the moon; for my pearl will appear brighter without casket and shell.

Here is my head, and there a heavy mace; strike, to make proof; and if this bone breaks, I am more full of marrow than intellect and soul.

That nut lacking pith which has chosen the husk—how shall it have perceived the relish of the almond-essence of my Prophet?

A sweetmeat full of his nuts, his sugar, and almonds sweetens my throat and lip, gives light to my eyes.

When you discover the pith, my son, and have learned to disregard the husk, when you have entered the quarter of Jesus, you will not any more say, “Where is my ass?”

My soul, how long will you complain? Give up one ass from the herd; behold the stoutness of the rider, not my lean draught-horse.

Know that the stoutness of the lover derives from the stoutness of his Beloved, for the pride of lovers arises from “I am God Most Great.”

O sighing pains, do not say “Ah, ah,” say “Allah”; speak not of the well, speak of the throne, O Joseph my soul-nourisher.