But philosophy brought no wine to his cup. 1240
Although he set many a snare in the gardens of learning,
His snares never caught a glimpse of the Ideal bird;
And notwithstanding that the nails of his thought were dabbled with blood,
The knot of Being and Not-being remained untied.
The sighs on his lips bore witness to his despair, 1245
His countenance told tales of his distraction.
One day he visited an excellent Sheikh,
A man who had in his breast a heart of gold.
The Sheikh laid the seal of silence on his lips