غزل شمارهٔ 214

In a pleasant dream, I beheld that in my hand, the cup was Interpretation passed; and, entrusted to fortune, the work was.

Forty years I endured trouble and vexation (in love's path). In the end, In the power of wine, two years of age (the glorious Kuran, wherein I find every delight I sought), the deliberation of it was.

That pod of desire that from fortune, I desired, In the tress-curl of that idol of musky tresses, was.

In the morning, grief's languor had overpowered me : Fortune became prosperous ; in the cup, the wine (of union with the true Beloved ; wine, life-giving) was.

Blood, I ever drink on the threshold of the wine-house, As on the first day, this very (blood-drinking) assigned to me was.

Who planted not love, nor plucked a rose for its loveliness, In the wind's path, the tulip's care-taker (ever in trouble) was.

By the rose-bed, chanced my passing at morning-time, When sigh and wail, the work of the bird of the sward was.

In praise of the king, we saw Hafiz's heart-alluring verse, Every couplet of that book (of verse) better than a hundred letters was :

That king, savage of attack, before whom the sun, lion-seizing, Less than a fawn, on the day of battle, was.