غزل شمارهٔ 191

Who is that one, who, by way of manliness, fidelity with me will make; In respect of an ill-doer like me, once a good deed will make?

First, to the sound of the harp and of the reed, me, His message, he will bring: Then, with a measure of wine, fidelity with me, he will make.

The Heart-ravisher, for whom my soul withered; by whom, the desire of my heart opened not: Of Him, one cannot be hopeless. Perchance, loving kindness, He may make.

I said “So long as I have been, I have not loosed a knot from that tress:” He said: “I have ordered it. With thee, readiness it shall make.”

The wool-wearer, sullen of disposition hath not perceived love’s perfume: Of its intoxication, utter a hint, that, abandonment of sensibleness he may make.

A beggar, void of mark, like me! A Friend like that was difficult to: Hidden pleasure with the common bazar-haunter, where doth the Soltan make?

‘Tis easy if, from that tress, full of twist and turn, I experience tyranny: Or its bond and chain, what grief that one’s, who, coming and going, may make?

Countless, became grief’s army. From fortune, I seek aid. Until, perchance, consolation Fakhru-d-Din Abdu-s-Samad may make.

Hafez! With this eye full of sorcery, attempt Him not: For that tress of night hue of His many a deceit shall make.