غزل شمارهٔ 59

Of a great favor from the threshold of the Friend, hope mine is; A great sin I have done; of His pardon hope mine, is.

I know that He will pass by my sin; for Although, angel-looking He is, of angel-nature, He is.

To such a degree, I wept that every one who passed, When he beheld running the pearl of our tears, spake saying: “This stream what is?

That mouth, no trace whereof I see, is naught: That waist is only a hair; and I know not what that hair is.

At the picture of Thy form, I wonder saying: How goeth it not From my eye, whose work, momently, washing and washing is.

Speechless, Thy tress draweth my heart: Against Thy heart-alluring tress, the way of speech whose is?

A lifetime it is since we perceived the perfume of Thy tress Yet in the perfume-place of my heart, the perfume of that perfume is.

Hafez! bad is thy distraught state; but, Good, to the memory of the Friend’s tress thy distraught state is.