Ghazal 329

At dawn Gemini placed its sword-belt before me —

meaning: I am the king's servant, and I swear it.

Cupbearer, come — for by the aid of providential fortune,

the desire I sought from God has been granted.

Give me a cup, for again in joy of the king's face,

in my old age, the desire of youth is in my head.

Do not bar my way with descriptions of Khidr's clear water —

for from the king's cup I am a sip-drinker of the Pool of Kawthar.

O King, even if I raise the throne of merit to the heavens,

I am the slave of this court and the poor one of this door.

I was the sip-drinker of your feast a thousand years ago —

how would my accustomed nature abandon its watering-place?

And if you do not believe this tale from your servant,

I will bring proof from the words of Kamal:

If I tear my heart from you and lift my love from you,

on whom shall I cast that love? Where shall I take that heart?

Mansur son of Muzaffar the warrior is my talisman —

and by this auspicious name, I am victorious over enemies.

My covenant of Am-I-Not was all with the love of the king —

and on the royal road of life, I pass by this covenant.

Since the sky made the order of the Pleiades in the king's name,

why should I not arrange pearls? Am I less than anyone?

Like a royal falcon, since I tasted food from the king's hand,

when would I turn my attention to hunting pigeons?

O lion-capturing king, what would it diminish if

in your shadow, the realm of ease were granted to me?

My verse, by the fortune of your praise, conquered a hundred kingdoms of hearts —

as if your sword is the tongue of my eloquence.

If I passed through any rose-garden like the morning breeze,

it was not love of the cypress, nor longing for the pine.

I was catching your scent, and in memory of your face,

the cupbearers of joy gave me one or two goblets.

Drunkenness from the water of one or two grapes is not my way —

I am an aged elder, nursed in the tavern.

I have much dispute with the course of heaven's stars —

may the king's justice be my helper in this case.

Thanks to God, that again in this height of the court,

the peacock of the Throne hears the fame of my feathers.

May my name be erased from the workshop of lovers

if anything but love of you is my other occupation.

The lion's cub attacked to hunt my heart — and I,

whether lean or not, am the prey of the lion.

O lovers of your face, more numerous than motes —

how shall I reach your union, I who am less than a mote?

Show me — who denies the beauty of your face? —

that I may gouge out his eye with the arrow of jealousy.

The shadow of the sun of sovereignty fell upon me —

and now I am free from the sun of the east.

The purpose of this transaction is to raise the market's price —

I am neither selling display nor buying coquetry.