غزل شمارهٔ 110

Elderly of head, into my head youthful love, hath fallen: And that mystery that, in the heart, I concealed, out hath fallen.

From vision’s path, the bird of my heart went soaring. O eye! behold into whose snare, it hath fallen.

O sorrow! that, for that musky deer, dark of eye, Like the musk-pod, much heart’s blood, into my liver, hath fallen.

From the thoroughfare of the dust of the head of your street, is Every musk-pod that in the hand of the morning-breeze, hath fallen.

Since thy eye-lashes drew forth the sword, world-seizing, Many a slain one, heart-alive that, on each other, hath fallen.

In this house of retribution, With the dreg-drunkards, whoever in fell, out hath fallen.

If the black stone give life, it becometh not the ruby: What may it do? With its original nature, it, ill-nature hath befallen.

Hafez whose happy hand hath the tress of idols, Into his head, a very powerful rival is it that hath fallen.