غزل شمارهٔ 235

O how happy the time when the Beloved cometh back. When to the desire of the grief-stricken, the grief-consoler cometh back !

Before the king of his fancy, the black and the white of the eye, I extended, In that hope that that imperial horseman might come back.

If, in the curve of his chaugan, my head goeth not, Of my head what may I say ? and to what work (is it that) the head itself, cometh back.

Like dust, dweller at the head of His path I have sat, In the desire that, by this way, He may come back.

That heart, to which the tip of His two tresses gave repose, Think not that, in that heart, rest cometh back.

From December, what tyrannies (they were) that the bulbuls endured : In the hope that, again, the fresh spring may come back.

Hafiz ! from the painter of destiny (God), hope of that is That, to my hand, like the cypress, the idol may come back.