غزل شمارهٔ 459

With this beauteous writing that on the rose of thy cheek thou drawest, On the page (leaf) of the rose, and of the rose-bed, the line (of effacement) thou drawest.

My tear, sitting in the fold of the hidden house,* From within the seven screens to the market (of renown) Thou drawest.

By the perfume of thy tress, the sluggish mover like the (soft) morning breeze, Momently, in bond and chain into (swift) action, Thou drawest.

Momently, in recollection of that lip, wine of hue ; and of that intoxicated eye, Me, from khilvat to the vintner's house, Thou drawest.

(O true Beloved !) Thou saidest : "Thy head bound to our saddle-strap is fit :" 'Tis easy (here is my head), if the trouble of this load, Thou endurest.

With (against) Thy eye and eye-brow, what deliberation of heart may I make ? Alas this bow that, against me miserable, Thou drawest.

Come back ! so that, with Thy cheek, far I may put the evil-eye, O fresh rose, that, from this thorn (Hafiz, possessed of imperious lust), Thy skirt Thou drawest.

Hafiz ! from the favour of time, what more seekest thou ? Wine thou tastest ; and (through the hand) the heart-possessor's tress thou drawest.