غزل شمارهٔ 36

Since thy tress-tip, into the power of the breeze, fell, My distraught heart, into two pieces on account of grief, fell.

In the midst of the dark morning, is thy eye of sorcery: This is the degree, whereto this prescription, ineffective fell.

That mole in the curve of thy tress knowest thou what it is? A dot of ink, that, in the curve of Jim fell.

In the rose-bed of the garden of thy cheek, thy musky tress, What is it? A peacock, that, in the garden of delights, fell.

O Friend of my soul! In desire of thy perfume, my heart, Behind the wind, as road-dust, fell.

Like the dust, this dusty body cannot rise From the head of thy street since it severely fell.

O thou of Isa breath! the shade of thy cypress on my body, Is the reflection of a soul, that, on the rotten bone, fell.

In memory of Thy lip, that one, whose place is none save the Ka’ba, I saw that, a dweller, at the Tavern-door, him befell.

O dear soul! With grief for thee, to Hafez heart-lost Is a great friendship that, in the ancient covenant, fell.