غزل شمارهٔ 436

He said, “Who is at the door?” I said, “Your humble slave.” He said, “What is your business?” I said, “Lord, to greet you.”

He said, “How long will you drive?” I said, “Until you call.” He said, “How long will you boil?” I said, “Till the resurrection.”

I laid claim to love, I swore many oaths that for love’s sake I had lost kingship and nobility.

He said, “For a claim the cadi requires witness.” I said, “My witness is my tears, my sign the pallor of my cheeks.”

He said, “Your witness is invalid; your eye is wet-skirted.” I said, “By the splendour of your justice, they are just and without fault.”

He said, “Who was your companion?” I said, “Your fantasy, O King.” He said, “Who summoned you hither?” I said, “The scent of your cup.”

He said, “What is your intention?” I said, “Fidelity and friendship.” He said, “What do you desire of me?” I said, “Your universal grace.”

He said, “Where is it most agreeable?” I said, “Caesar’s palace.” He said, “What did you see there?” I said, “A hundred miracles.”

He said, “Why is it desolate?” I said, “For fear of the highwayman.” He said, “Who is the highwayman?” I said, “This blame.”

He said, “Where is safety?” I said, “In abstinence and godliness.” He said, “What is abstinence?” I said, “The way of salvation.”

He said, “Where is calamity?” I said, “In the street of your love.” He said, “How fare you there?” I said, “In perfect rectitude.”

Silence! For if I were to utter his subtleties you would come forth from yourself, neither door nor roof would remain to you.