غزل شمارهٔ 1737

Bring wine, for I am suffering crop sickness {hang-over} from the vintner; God has seized me, and I am thus held fast.

By love’s soul, bring me a cup of wine that is the envy of the sun, for I care nothing for aught but love.

Bring that which if I were to call it “soul” would be a shame, for the reason that I am pained in the head because of the soul.

Bring that whose name is not contained in this mouth, through which the fissures of my speech split asunder.

Bring that which, when it is not present, I am stupid and ignorant, but when I am with it, I am the king of the subtle and crafty ones.

Bring that which, the moment it is void of my head, I become black and dark, you might say I am of the infidels.

Bring that which delivers out of this “bring” and “do not bring”; bring quickly, and repel me not, saying, “Whence shall I bring it?”

Bring, and deliver the roof of the heavens through the long night from my abundant smoke and lamentations.

Bring that which after my death, even out of my dust, will restore me to speech and thanksgiving even as Najj¯ar.

Bring me wine, for I am guardian of wine like a goblet, for whatever has gone into my stomach I deliver back completely.

Najj¯ar said, “After my death would that my people might be open-eyed to the ecstasy within me.

“They would not regard my bones and blood; in spirit I am a mighty king, even though in body I am vile.

“What a ladder I, the Carpenter, have chiseled! My going has reached the roof of the seventh heaven.

“I journeyed like the Messiah, my ass remained below; I do not grieve for my ass, nor am I asslike of ears.

“Do not like Ibl¯ıs see in Adam only water and clay; see that behind the clay are my hundred thousand rose bowers.”

Shams-i Tabr¯ız¯ı rose up from this flesh saying, “I am the sun. Bring up my head from this mire.

“Err not, when I enter the mire once more, for I am at rest, and am ashamed of this veil.

“Every morning I will rise up, despite the blind; for the sake of the blind I will not cease to rise and set.”