Ode XXII

… some one, ‘Master Sana’i is dead.’
The death of such a master is no little thing.
He was not chaff which flew on the wind,
He was not water which froze in winter.
He was not a comb which was broken with an hair,
He was not a seed which the earth crushed.
He was a treasure of gold in this dust-pit,
For he valued the two worlds at a barley-corn.
The earthly frame he flung to the earth,
Soul and intellect he bore to heaven.
The pure elixir mingled with the wine-dregs
Came to the jar’s surface, and the lees settled apart.
The second soul which the vulgar know not
I protest by God that he surrendered to the Beloved.
In travel, dear friend, there meet together
The native of Marv and of Rai, the Roman and the Kurd.
Each one returns to his home;
How should an old man be the companion of youths?
Keep silence, like the points (of a compass), because the King
Has erased thy name from the book of speech.