I catch Your fragrance from the tall symmetry of the cypress.
I almost see the color of Your face in the moon.
Every sugarcane comes to Your temple to wear the belt of service.
Every bit of sugar comes to be a servant in Your halva.
Every light which shines comes from the glory of Your face.
Wine gives good news by saying, “Your next day is coming.”
The roses become master of the iris, adorning the meadow,
Because it reminds them of Your beautiful smile.
When I run away from Your Love, I am teasing.
Your Love is being spread to my head from six directions.
When I was raised from this despicable earth, I undressed from existence.
Even in that land of Absence, Your voice comes to my ear.
Every sound is full of exaltation and instigation.
I understand this comes from Your reed flute.
My night is day because of You.
My lips are dry because of You.
But, I don’t mind; Your rivers are coming.
Nobody is sober under Your satin sky,
Because Your wine is coming back and forth.
I am afraid of Your oppression, Your torment.
But, once they come, I see they are also from Your sea.
O God’s Shams of Tabriz,
Words and thoughts are refreshing the soul
Like breezes that come from Your valley.
Divan-i Kebir, Meter 3, Gazel 46, Verses 436-446, Pages 82-83.