I—but a beggar mean—can I hope for Union at last?
Ah! would that in sleep I saw but the shadow cast
Of my friend.
Ever my pine-cone heart, as the aspen trembling and shy,
Has yearned for the pine-like shape and the stature high
Of my friend.
Not at the lowest price would my friend to purchase me care;
Yet I, a whole world to win, would not sell one hair
Of my friend.
How should this heart gain aught,
Were its gyves of grief flung aside?
I, Háfiz, a bondsman, still
Would the slave abide
Of my friend.
XXIX
Who of a Heaven on earth can tell, pure as the cell—Of dervishes?
If in the highest state you'd dwell, be ever slaves
Of dervishes.
The talisman of magic Might hid in some ruin's lonely site,
Emerges from its ancient night at the wild glance
Of dervishes.
When the proud sun has run his race, and he puts off his crown apace,
He bows before the pomp and place which are the boast
Of dervishes.
The palace portal of the sky, watched by Rizván's unsleeping eye,
All gazers can at once descry from the glad haunts
Of dervishes.
When mortal hearts are black and cold, that which transmutes them into
gold
Is the alchemic stone we hold from intercourse
Of dervishes.