XVII: What inquiry makest thou concerning the lover's condition…

What inquiry makest thou concerning the lover's condition I
No one hath hazarded a conjecture of the interminable road!

Wherefore had I been afflicted with misery such as this,
Had I guarded the heart from hearing the sight's promptings?

How can there be any peace or tranquillity for them,
Whose hearts, the ardent glances of the beloved have abducted?

Love, she hath made the chain of a distracted breast;
And, by the power of her glance, draweth the bond unto her.

A wondrous state of affection hath come over them--
Without seeing, they are disturbed, and in pursuit tired out.

Without any will of their own, they search for liberty:
With such a death impending, the dead yearn after life.

When the ripe fruit falleth to the earth, in its perfection,
The seed, with gladness, boweth its head to the ground.

This bubble, even now formed by the water, is by it again broken;
But what is carried away by the flood, floateth, its surface, upon.

They of little sense, are at their good fortune perplexed;
And this wind, like unto chaff, carrieth them before it.

One, here and there, comprehendeth the reality's purport--
The lightly equipped travelleth, easily, along the narrow path.

Cast, O Mirza, thine eyes upon the burnished mirror!
There is no particle of iron-dross in the steel thereof.