غزل شمارهٔ 296

If fortune give aid, to my hand I will bring His skirt : If (the skirt) I draw O great the joy ! If, me, He slay great the honour !

How more derived this heart full of hope the advantage of mercy : Though to every quarter, the talk of the day kept taking my tale.

Mine became no opening from the curve of Thy eye-bro : Alas ! in this crooked fancy, became the destruction of dear life.

Leader of me, miserable, when becometh the Friend's eye-brow ? From this bow, none hath struck the arrow of desire on the target.

Awhile, the love of idols, stone of heart, I cherish ; No recollection of the father make these unfavoured sons.

In the fancy of being a zahid, corner-sitting (I became); and strange (it is) that, From every side, me, with the (sound of the) harp and the drum, the young magian proclaimeth.

Void of knowledge are the zahids ; the charm, utter ; and speak not : Intoxicated is the muhtasib; the cup, drink; and fear not.

Behold the city-Sufi, how a doubtful morsel, he eateth ! Long be his crupper, this animal of good fodder !

Hafiz ! if, in the path of love's household, thou plant thy foot : The guide of thy path shall be the blessing of the watchman of Najaf (Ali).