غزل شمارهٔ 107

Ever increasing, Thy beauty be! All years, tulip-hued, Thy face be.

In my head, the image of Thy love, Every day that is, increasing be.

Every cypress that, in the sward, cometh up, Before the Alef of Thy stature, like the nun be!

That eye that is not bewitched by Thee, Out of the jewel of tears, in a sea of blood be!

For heart-ravishing, Thy eye In practicing sorcery, sorcery-possessed be!

Wherever in grief for Thee, is a heart, Without patience, or rest; and without quietude, let it be.

The stature of all the heart-ravishers of the world, In service of Thy form, bowed be!

He who in separation from Thee is not content, Out of the circle of union with Thee, be.

Thy ruby lip that is the soul of Hafez, From the lip of every mean and base one, far be.