غزل شمارهٔ 471

To me, from the heart-ravisher who will convey the kindness (of a letter) of a pen? The foot-man of the wind is where, if he still doeth a kindness?

In love's path, I considered that the deliberation of wisdom Is like a little night-dew, that, on the sea, draweth a mark (wrinkle).

Come ; for, though my khirka is the endowment of the wine-house, Of the property of endowment, thou seest not to my name (even), a diram.

O heart (Saki) ! head-pain giveth the tale of how and why ; The cup (of pure wine) take ; and, from (the care of) thy own life, rest a moment.

Love's pain knoweth not the road-sitting physician (the dry zahid; the sufi, void of wisdom) : O one dead of heart ! go ; to hand get a Masih-breath.

From hypocrisy, my heart took (flight) ; and the drum (was) beneath the blanket ; Come, so that at the wine-house door, I may up-lift a great standard.

Come (and drink wine). For the time-recogniser selleth two worlds (this and the next), For one cup of pure wine; and for the society of a lovely idol.

Not love's way is ever pleasure and ease ; If, our companion, thou be, drink the poison of a great grief.

No complaint (only mention), I make. But, the cloud of mercy of the Friend, To the field of liver-thirsty ones, gave not (even) a little dew.

For one reed of his candy, why purchase they not that one (Hafiz) Who, a hundred sugar-scatterings, made from the reed of a single pen ?

O king ! in Hafiz's hand is naught worthy of thy value Save the supplication of a night ; and the prayer of a morning.