Heaven, from its heavy trust aspiring to be free,
The duty was allotted, mad as I am, to me.
Thank God my friend and I once more sweet peace have gained!
For this the houris dancing thanksgiving cups have drained.
With Fancy's hundred wisps what wonder that I've strayed,
When Adam in his prudence was by a grain bewrayed?[43]
Excuse the wrangling sects, which number seventy-two:
They knock at Fable's portal, for Truth eludes their view.
No fire is that whose flame the taper laughs to scorn:
True fire consumes to ashes the moth's upgarnered corn.
Blood fills recluses' hearts where Love its dot doth place,
Fine as the mole that glistens upon a charmer's face.
As Háfiz, none Thought's face
Hath yet unveiled; not e'en
Since for the brides of Language
Combed have their tresses been.
CXV
Lost Joseph shall return to Kanaan's land—Despair not:
Affliction's cell of gloom with flowers shall bloom:
Despair not
Sad heart, thy state shall mend; repel despondency;
Thy head confused with pain shall sense regain:
Despair not.