غزل شمارهٔ 47

In the Street of the tavern, every holy traveler, that knew the Path The knocking at another door, the source of ruin knew.

The diadem of profligacy, Time gave to none save to that one Who, exaltation of the world in this cup, knew.

To the threshold of the tavern, whoever found a Path, The mysteries of the cloister from the bounty of the cup of wine knew.

From the Saki’s line, whoever read the mystery of both worlds, The mysteries of Jamshid’s cup with the pictures of the road-dust knew.

Seek not from us aught save the devotion of the distraught, For the being wise, a sin, the Shaikh of our religious order knew.

From the eye of the Saki, my heart desired not safety for life; For the way of that Bold One, black of heart, my heart knew.

From the violence of the constellation of nativity, my eye in the mornings So wept, that Nahid beheld, and the moon knew.

The tale of Hafez and the cup which he secretly drinketh What room for the Muhtaseb and the watchman? The king knew.

A king of lofty rank is that one who, the nine halls of the sky, The form of the curve of the arch of his court, knew.