غیرت عقل است بر خوبی روح ** پر ز تشبیهات و تمثیل این نصوح
Reason's jealousy of the beauty of the Spirit is (the cause of) this sincere admonition being full of similitudes and allegories.
با چنین پنهانیی کین روح راست ** عقل بر وی این چنین رشکین چراست
Notwithstanding that this Spirit is so hidden, why is Reason so jealous of Him?
از که پنهان می‌کنی ای رشک‌خو ** آنک پوشیدست نورش روی او 690
O jealous one, from whom art thou hiding Him whose face is concealed by His light?
می‌رود بی‌روی‌پوش این آفتاب ** فرط نور اوست رویش را نقاب
This Sun goes with face uncovered: His face is veiled by the excess of His light.
از که پنهان می‌کنی ای رشک‌ور ** که آفتاب از وی نمی‌بیند اثر
From whom art thou hiding Him, O jealous one? The sun (itself) cannot see a trace of Him.
رشک از آن افزون‌ترست اندر تنم ** کز خودش خواهم که هم پنهان کنم
(Reason says), “The jealousy in my body is (all) the greater because I desire to hide Him even from myself.
ز آتش رشک گران آهنگ من ** با دو چشم و گوش خود در جنگ من
On account of the fire of fell jealousy I am at war with my own eyes and ears.”
چون چنین رشکیستت ای جان و دل ** پس دهان بر بند و گفتن را بهل 695
Since thou hast such a (mighty) jealousy, O my soul and heart, close thy mouth and leave off speaking.
ترسم ار خامش کنم آن آفتاب ** از سوی دیگر بدراند حجاب
(Reason says), “If I keep silence, I fear that that Sun will rend the veil and (display Himself) from another quarter.”
در خموشی گفت ما اظهر شود ** که ز منع آن میل افزون‌تر شود
In (keeping) silence our (inward) speaking (of Him) is (only) made more evident, since the desire (for manifestation) is increased by suppression.
گر بغرد بحر غره‌ش کف شود ** جوش احببت بان اعرف شود
If the Sea roar, its roaring turns to foam and becomes the surge of “I desired to be known.”
حرف گفتن بستن آن روزنست ** عین اظهار سخن پوشیدنست
To utter words (concerning Him) is to shut the window (through which He reveals Himself): the very act of expression is the concealment (of Him).
بلبلانه نعره زن در روی گل ** تا کنی مشغولشان از بوی گل 700
Sing, like nightingales, in the presence of the Rose, in order that you may divert them from the scent of the Rose,
تا به قل مغشول گردد گوششان ** سوی روی گل نپرد هوششان
So that their ears will be engaged in (listening to) the song, and their attention will not fly to the face of the Rose.
پیش این خورشید کو بس روشنیست ** در حقیقت هر دلیلی ره‌زنیست
Before this Sun, which is exceedingly radiant, every guide is in reality a highway robber.
حکایت آن مطرب کی در بزم امیر ترک این غزل آغاز کرد گلی یا سوسنی یا سرو یا ماهی نمی‌دانم ازین آشفته‌ی بی‌دل چه می‌خواهی نمی‌دانم و بانگ بر زدن ترک کی آن بگو کی می‌دانی و جواب مطرب امیر را
Story of the minstrel who began to sing this ode at the banquet of the Turkish Amír: “Art Thou a rose or a lily or a cypress or a man? I know not. What dost Thou desire from this bewildered one who has lost his heart? I know not”— and how the Turk shouted at him, “Tell of that which you know!”—and the minstrel's reply to the Amír.
مطرب آغازید پیش ترک مست ** در حجاب نغمه اسرار الست
In the presence of the drunken Turk the minstrel began (to sing of) the mysteries of Alast under the veil of melody—
من ندانم که تو ماهی یا وثن ** من ندانم تا چه می‌خواهی ز من
“I know not whether Thou art a moon or an idol, I know not what Thou desirest of me.
می‌ندانم که چه خدمت آرمت ** تن زنم یا در عبارت آرمت 705
I know not what service I shall pay Thee, whether I shall keep silence or express Thee in words.
این عجب که نیستی از من جدا ** می‌ندانم من کجاام تو کجا
’Tis marvellous that Thou art not separate from me, (and yet) where am I, and where Thou, I know not.
می‌ندانم که مرا چون می‌کشی ** گاه در بر گاه در خون می‌کشی
I know not how Thou art drawing me: Thou drawest me now into Thy bosom, now into blood.”
هم‌چنین لب در ندانم باز کرد ** می‌ندانم می‌ندانم ساز کرد
In this fashion he opened his lips (only) to say “I know not”: he made a tune of “I know not, I know not.”
چون ز حد شد می‌ندانم از شگفت ** ترک ما را زین حراره دل گرفت
When (the refrain) “I know not” passed beyond bounds, our Turk was amazed and his heart became sick of this ditty.
برجهید آن ترک و دبوسی کشید ** تا علیها بر سر مطرب رسید 710
The Turk leaped up and fetched an iron mace to smite the minstrel's head with it on the spot;
گرز را بگرفت سرهنگی بدست ** گفت نه مطرب کشی این دم بدست
(But) an officer seized the mace with his hand, saying, “Nay; ’tis wicked to kill the minstrel at this moment.”
گفت این تکرار بی حد و مرش ** کوفت طبعم را بکوبم من سرش
He (the Turk) replied, “This endless and countless repetition of his has pounded my nerves: I will pound his head.