غزل شمارهٔ 100

Come, you who have given new life to the world, put out of action cunning reason.

Until you flight me like an arrow, I cannot fly; come, fill once more the bow.

Because of your love, the bowl has fallen again from the roof; once more send down from the roof that ladder.

Men ask me, “In which direction is His roof?” In that direction whence the soul was brought;

In that direction whither every night the soul departs, then in the time of dawn He brings back the soul;

In that direction whence spring comes to the earth, and at dawn He bestows a new lamp upon the heavens;

In that direction whence a staff became a serpent, and He bore off Pharaoh’s host to hell;

In that direction whence arose this quest in you—itself a token, it seeks a token.

You are that man who is seated upon an ass, and keeps asking of the ass this and that.

Be silent; for out of jealous regard He desires not to bring all and sundry into the sea.