غزل شمارهٔ 819

Little by little the drunkards congregate, little by little the wine-worshippers arrive.

The heart-cherishers coquettishly come along the way, the rosy-cheeked ones are arriving from the garden.

Little by little from the world of being and not-being the not-beings have departed and the beings are arriving.

All with skirts full of gold as a mine are arriving for the sake of the destitute.

The lean and sick from the pasturage of love are arriving fat and hale.

The souls of the pure ones like the rays of the sun are arriving from such a height to the lowly ones.

Blessed is that garden, where, for the sake of the Mary’s, new fruits are arriving even in winter.

Their origin is grace, and their return is grace; even from the garden to the garden they are coming.