غزل شمارهٔ 114
Toggle stanza 1همایِ اوجِ سعادت به دامِ ما افتد
The Homa of the height of felicity to the snare of ours falleth. If, Thy passing to the dwelling of ours falleth.
Like the bubble, up I cast my cap with joy, If a reflection of Thy face into the cup of ours falleth.
A night when the moon of desire ariseth from the horizon It may be that the ray of that light on the roof of ours falleth.
When the path of dust-kissing of this door is not for kings, How, the favor of an answer to the salutation of ours falleth?
When my life became the sacrifice for Thy lip I established the fancy That a drop of its limpid water to the palate of ours falleth.
The fancy! Thy tress spake saying: “O Lover! make not life the means; “For, of this kind, many a prey into the snare of ours falleth.”
From this door, go not in hopelessness. Strike an omen: It may be that the die of fortune to the name of ours falleth.
Whenever Hafez boasteth of the dust of Thy “street,” Thy breeze of the rose-bed of the soul into the perfume-place of ours falleth.
Zameen