غزل شمارهٔ 151

A world altogether, to pass life a single moment in grief is not worth: For wine, sell our ragged religious garment; for more than this it is not worth.

In the wine-seller’s street, for a single cup of wine, they take it not up: O excellent prayer-mat of piety, that, a single cup of wine is not worth.

The watcher reproached me saying: “Turn away thy face from this door:” To this our head, what happened that the dust of the door, it is not worth.

The pomp of the imperial crown, in whose grandeur is fear of life, Is verily a heart-alluring crown; but the abandoning of one’s head, it is not worth.

At first, in hope of profit, very easy the toil of the sea appeared: I uttered a mistake. Because, a hundred jewels, this deluge is not worth.

For thee, that best that from the desirous ones thou cover thy face, Because, the grief of an army, the joyousness of world-seizing is not worth.

Like Hafez, strive in contentment; and let go the mean world: Because two hundred “mans” of gold, one grain of the favor of the mean is not worth.