غزل شمارهٔ 109

‘Tis a long time; and the Heart-possessor a message sent not; A letter, wrote not; and a salutation, sent not.

A hundred letters, I sent; and that sovereign of horsemen A messenger hastened not; and a message sent not.

To me, like a wild beast, reason affrighted, One, deer of gait, partridge of strut, He sent not.

He knew that the bird of my heart would go from my hand, Yet, of that chain-like hair, a snare, He sent not.

Complaint! that Said sweet of lip, intoxicated, Knew that I was wine-sick; and a cup of wine, sent not.

As long as I boasted of excellences and of the stages, To me, any news of any stage, He sent not.

Hafez! be with respect. For appeal is none: If a message to a humble slave, the King sent not.