غزل شمارهٔ 7

O Sufi! come; for bright is the mirror of the cup: That thou mayst see the brightness of the wine of ruby hue.

Of profligates intoxicated as the mystery within the veil; For, this state is not the Zahed’s, lofty of degree.

The Anka is the prey of none. Up-pluck thy snare: For, here ever, in the hand of the snare, is wind.

At time’s banquet, enjoy one or two cups; and go: Verily desire not perpetual union.

O heart! youth’s vigor hath departed; and, from life, thou hast not plucked a single rose: Elderly of head, show skill of name and fame.

Strive in the pleasure of the present. As, when no water remained, “Adam let go the garden of the house of safety.”

On our part, at thy threshold, many are thy rights of service. O Sir! again, in pity, look upon thy slave.

The disciple of the cup of Jamshid is Hafez. O breeze, go: And give salutation from the slave to the Shaikh of Jam.