غزل شمارهٔ 457

Efforts, a thousand, I made that, my (true) Beloved, Thou shouldst be; (That) the desire-giver of my sorrowful heart, Thou shouldst be.

(O true Beloved !) since the lamp of my eye, Thou madest night alive keeper (watchful), The consoler of my hopeful heart, Thou shalt be.

When to slaves, Khusraus of darkish beauty behave kindly, In the midst, the Lord of my work thou shouldst be.

By that cornelian (mouth), by the way whereof, bloody of heart, I am, If complaint, I make, my mystery-keeper, thou shalt be.

In that sward where idols (beloved ones) the hand of lovers take, If, from thy hand, this (hand-taking) take place, my idol, thou shall be.

(That) a moment into the hut of sorrowful lovers, Thou shouldst come ; And, a night, the consoling friend of my sorrowful heart, Thou shouldst be.

My slender prey becometh the rays of the sun, If, a moment, a deer like thee, my prey thou be.

The three kisses that of Thy two lips, my portion Thou hast made, If Thou give not, my debtor, Thou shalt be.

In sleep of midnight, this desire I see ; In place of streaming tears, in my embrace, thou shalt be.

Though I am the Hafiz (the guardian) of the city, not worth a barley-corn I am : Perchance, out of thy own liberality, my beloved, thou shalt be.