غزل شمارهٔ 192

Inclination for the sward, the cypress of my sward, wberefore maketh not? The fellow-companion of the rose, becometh not? Memory of the lily maketh not?

Yesterday, I complained of His tress and what a pity, Said that this black servant never listens to me not.

Until, into the curl of His tress, went my foolish heart, On account of that long Journey, the resolution of visiting its native land, it of itself maketh not.

Submissiveness, before the bow of His eye-brow, I keep displaying; but, Ear-drawn it is. Therefore, for me, the ear, He maketh not.

Notwithstanding all this perfume of Thy skirt, in respect of the wind, wonder cometh to me, That, by Thy passing, the dust, the musk of Khotan, it maketh not.

When with the wind, the violet tress becometh full of twist: Alas! Of that time of curl, what recollection that my heart maketh not.

In hope of union with Thee, the fellow-companion of the soul, my heart is not: In desire of Thy street, the service of the body, my soul maketh not.

If my Saki of silver leg giveth naught but dregs, The body all mouth, like the wine-cup, who is there that maketh not.

Not listening to counsel, Hafez was slain by Thy glance: Fit is the sword for him, who the comprehension of speech maketh not.