غزل شمارهٔ 318

Me, Thou beholdest ; and, in a moment, my pain, greater Thou makest ; Thee, I behold ; and momently my inclination for Thee greater becometh.

As to my state, Thou askest not ; what mystery Thou hast, I know not : For my remedy, Thou strivest not ; perchance, my pain, Thou knowest not.

Not the way is this that me, on the dust, Thou shouldst cast ; and pass on : Pass by (me) ; and again my state ask, so that the dust of Thy Path, I may become.

From off Thy skirt, I keep not my hand, save in the dust (of the grave) ; and, that very moment, When, over my dust (in the grave), Thou passest, Thy skirt, my dust will seize.

From grief of love for Thee, my breath (of life) descended. Breath, Thou givest till when ? Forth from me, destruction, Thou takest: Thou sayest not: " Breath, bring forth."

One night, in the darkness, from Thy (dark) tress, my heart I sought : Thy face, I beheld ; and a cup of Thy ruby lip, again I drank.

Suddenly, Thee, into my bosom, I drew ; and, into the curl of Thy tress, it (my heart) went : On Thy lip, my lip I placed ; and, soul and heart, made sacrifice.

To Hafiz, kind be Thou. To the enemy say : "Thy life surrender:" When on Thy part, warmth I see, of the enemy cold of breath, mine, what fear?