غزل شمارهٔ 342

The dust of my body is the veil of the (true) Beloved's face ; O happy that moment when from off this face, the veil I cast!

Not fit for a sweet singer like me, is the cage (of the world) like this : To Rizvan's rose-bed, I go ; for the bird of that sward am I.

Manifest, it is not wherefore, I have come (into this world) ; where, I had been : Regret and sorrow that, of my own work, careless I am.

In the expanse of the holy world, my circuit how may I make ? When, in the mixed abode (this dusty world), plank-bound (confined) to a (dusty) body, I am.

If, from my heart's blood, the perfume of musk issue, Have no wonder ; for fellow-sufferer with the musk-pod of Khutan (the musk-deer), I am.

(Outwardly), regard not the embroidery of my gold-thread tunic (resplendent) like the candle, (saying : " He is happy ") : For, within the tunic, hidden consumings ate.

Come ; and from before him, the existence of Hafiz take up : For, with Thy existence, none heareth from me that I am (living).