The Homa of the height of felicity to the snare of ours falleth. If, Thy passing to the dwelling of ours falleth.
Like the bubble, up I cast my cap with joy, If a reflection of Thy face into the cup of ours falleth.
A night when the moon of desire ariseth from the horizon It may be that the ray of that light on the roof of ours falleth.
When the path of dust-kissing of this door is not for kings, How, the favor of an answer to the salutation of ours falleth?
When my life became the sacrifice for Thy lip I established the fancy That a drop of its limpid water to the palate of ours falleth.
The fancy! Thy tress spake saying: “O Lover! make not life the means; “For, of this kind, many a prey into the snare of ours falleth.”
From this door, go not in hopelessness. Strike an omen: It may be that the die of fortune to the name of ours falleth.
Whenever Hafez boasteth of the dust of Thy “street,” Thy breeze of the rose-bed of the soul into the perfume-place of ours falleth.
