غزل شمارهٔ 157

Desire of passion for Thy fresh down to whomsoever, shall be: Forth from the circle he planteth not his foot, so long as he shall be.

When, tulip-like, I arise from the dust of the tomb, The stain of passion for Thee, the secret of the black spot shall be.

O priceless jewel! Till when, holdest thou lawful, That, from grief, man’s eye all a river shall be?

From the root of every eye-lash of mine, water is flowing. Come: If, for bank of the stream and for the view, Thy inclination shall be.

Like my heart, forth from the screen a moment come; and come, For, again not manifest, shall be.

On my head, be the prolonged shadow of Thy tress. For, in that shadow, rest to the distraught heart shall be.

Through disdain, Thy eye inclineth not to Hafez. Yes, The quality of the variegated narcissus, haughtiness shall be.