غزل شمارهٔ 62

Welcome! O Messenger of the Longing Ones, give the message of the Friend. That, with the essence of pleasure, I may make my soul a sacrifice for the Friend.

Wailing and lamenting perpetually is like the nightingale in the cage: Of parrot-nature am I through love of sugar and of the almond of the Friend.

His tress is the snare; the grain of that snare, his mole; and I, In hope of that grain, have fallen into the snare of the Friend.

Till the morning of the day of assembling, through intoxication, raiseth not his hand. Whoever, in Eternity without beginning, drinketh like me a draught from the cup of the Friend.

A little by way of explanation of my own desire, I uttered not on that account It is head-pain to show more than this importunity to the Friend.

Into my eye, I put as collyrium, if it be gained, The dust of the precious path that becometh honored by the footstep of the Friend.

My inclination, towards Union; and His towards separation: I abandoned my own desire that there might issue the desire of the Friend.

Hafez! In grief for Him, continue to consume; remediless, be content. On that account, that no remedy hath the restless pain of the Friend.