غزل شمارهٔ 470

Alas ! full, full of pain is my heart, a plaister ! God ! through loneliness, to (giving up) life my heart hath come; a companion !

From the swift moving sky, hope of ease, hath who ? O Saki ! a cup bring, so that I may rest a while.

To a wit, I said : " Behold these circumstances." He laughed and said : "A work, difficult ; a state, the father of wonders ; perturbed, a world."

In the pit of patience, for that candle of Chigil, I consumed ; Of our state, the King of the Turkans (Turans) is careless. Where a Rustam?

In the Path of love-play, calamity is safety and ease ; Wounded be that heart that with (on account of) pain desireth a plaister!

No path, into the street of profligates, is for the man of desire and indulgence A wayfarer is necessary, a world-consumer ; not a raw one, without a grief.

In this dusty world, to hand cometh not a man ; It is necessary to make another world, and anew a man.

Arise. To the saucy ones of Samarkand, let us give our heart ; For, from its breeze, the fragrance of the river Mulian (the Oxus) cometh anon.

Hafiz! before (in comparison with) love's independence what weigheth thy weeping ? For, in this deluge, the seven (all the) seas (of the world) appear (only) a little night-dew.