In the dervish’s circle no purity we saw,
Within the monastery from Him no sound we heard.
At school from the beloved no books we read,
Out of minaret, from the beloved, we heard nothing.
Inside the books no veil we saw,
By studying pages nowhere we got to.
Within the tavern the whole life we wasted,
Within the friend’s ring there was no cure nor aid.
Within the lover’s circle I'll go to find,
From the beloved’s garden a breeze, a trace.
This selfish boasting is totally derived from wisdom and the wise,
Within the drunk's sanctum there is no I, nor we.