Zaburi Ajam [Electronic resources] نسخه متنی

61

Fool! Is there then such hope in thee

Of winning Europe’s sympathy?

The falcon grieves not overmuch

About the bird that’s in his clutch.

Shame on thee, only to desire

Rubies bequeathed thee by thy sire!

Is there not one delight alone–

To win thee rubies from the stone:

Speak not about the world to me,

If it be not or if it be;

I only know that I am I,

The world-illusion let go by.

Trembles each tavern-glass with fear

Because the officer is here,

Except one lover’s bowl doth make

The very stones with dread to shake.

Sayst thou that veiled the selfhood is?

Say on; but let me tell thee this–

Tear not this veil into a shred;

Narrow’s the vision in the head.

The ancient bough, beneath whose shade

Thy little sprouting wings were laid,

Were it into shame to move at last

Thy nest, when all its leaves are cast?

Call that a song, which Nature brings

To serve as music for her strings;

What use is in the minstrelsy

That all with Nature doth agree?