غزل شمارهٔ 147

Last night, news to me the messenger of the morning wind brought, Saying: “To shortness, its face, the day of labor and of grief hath brought.”

To the minstrels of the morning cup, new raiment, we give For this news that the morning wind brought.

Come! come! For thee, the Angel of Paradise, Rezvan, A slave to this world, for the sake of thy heart, hath brought.

Verily, to Shiraz, we will go with the favor of the friend O excellent friend who, as my fellow-traveler, fortune, brought.

Strive with the strength of our heart. For this cap of felt, Many the shattering that, upon the kingly diadem, it hath brought.

From my heart to the palace of the moon, what wailings that reached, When, memory of the cheek of that regal moon, it brought.

Hafez may cause his standard of victory to reach the sky, When, his refuge to the court of the great King, he brought.