آڈیوز
یہ صفحہ صرف صداکار فریبا علومی یزدی کی دستیاب آڈیوز دکھاتا ہے۔
The court of the garden is joy-giving; and the society of friends, pleasant; Pleasant, be the time of the rose, whereby the time of wine-drinkers is pleasant.
حافظ » غزلیات » غزل شمارهٔ 43
‘Tis a time since the passion for idols was my faith: The pain of this work, the joy of the sorrowful heart of mine is.
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The produce of the workshop of existence and dwelling all this is naught; Bring wine. For the goods of the world all this is naught.
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At dawn, the bird of the sward spake to the rose: “Display less disdain; for, in this garden many a one like thee hath blossomed.”
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That Bold One of Angel-face who, last night, by me passed, What sin saw He that, by way of sin, He passed?
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On account of that heart-cherishing beloved, thanks with complaint are mine: If thou be a subtlety-understander of love list well to this tale.
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Yesterday, the Pir, the wine-seller whose mention be for good! Said: “Drink wine; and, from recollection, take the heart’s grief.”
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In need of the physician’s care, thy body be not; Vexed by injury, thy tender existence be not!
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When, into the mirror of the cup, the reflection of Thy face fell, From the laughter of wine, into the crude desire of the cup, the Aref fell.
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At the time of His face, retirement from the sward, our heart hath: For, like the cypress, foot-binding it is; and like the tulip, stain it hath.
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Every one, who, his heart collected and the beloved acceptable hath, Happiness became his fellow-companion; and fortune, his fellow-sitter, he hath.
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Every one, who regardeth the people of fidelity, Him, in every state, from calamity God preserveth.
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Wonderful harmony and great melody, my minstrel of love hath: Every picture of the hidden that he striketh, path to place hath.
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That one is not the beloved, who hath a hair and a waist: Be the slave of the form of that one who, ravishingness to the highest degree, hath.
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In this city is no idol that, our heart, taketh: If fortune be my friend, hence my chattels, it taketh.
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Like the wind, resolution of the head of the Beloved’s street, I will make: By His pleasant perfume, my own breath, musk-raining, I will make.
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Memory be of that one, who, at the time of journeying memory of us made not: Who, by farewell, joyous our grief-stricken heart made not.
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O heart! the grief of love, again, thou sawest what it did, When the heart-ravisher went; and with the beloved, fidelity-observing, what it did.
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Search for the cup of Jamshid from me, years my heart made. And for what it possessed, from a stranger, entreaty made.
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Save the love of those moon of face, a path my heart taketh not: To it, in every way, I give counsel; but it kindleth not.
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A world altogether, to pass life a single moment in grief is not worth: For wine, sell our ragged religious garment; for more than this it is not worth.
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In eternity without beginning, of glory, the splendor-ray of Thy beauty boasted. Revealed became love; and, upon all the world, fire dashed.
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Desire of passion for Thy fresh down to whomsoever, shall be: Forth from the circle he planteth not his foot, so long as he shall be.
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I and refusal of wine! What a tale this is! Doubtless, this degree of reason mine; and sufficient is.
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Not all purity without alloy is the coat of the Sufi; O many a Khirka, that is worthy of the fire!
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Pleasant is Khalvat, if my beloved, the Beloved shall be Not if I consume and the candle of assembly, He shall be.
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Without the beloved’s face, the rose is not pleasant. Without wine, spring is not pleasant.
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Musk-diffusing, the breath of the morning breeze shall be: Again the world old young shall be.
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As for me, out of my head, love for those dark of eye will not go: This is the sky’s decree; and other way, it will not be.
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The star gleamed; and the moon of the assembly became: Of our affrighted heart, the consoler and comforter became.
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Friendship in none, I perceive. To friends what hath happened? Friendship ended when? To friends what hath happened?
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O heart! glad tidings that the morning breeze hath come back, From the quarters of Saba the lap-wing of good news hath come back.
حافظ » غزلیات » غزل شمارهٔ 174
For the congratulation of the Pir, wine-seller, the morning-breeze came Saying: “The season of joy, and of pleasure, and of freshness, and of sweet ness is came.”
حافظ » غزلیات » غزل شمارهٔ 175
Not every beloved one that up-kindleth his face the work of a heart-ravisher knoweth. Not every one who maketh the mirror, the work of a Eskandar knoweth.
حافظ » غزلیات » غزل شمارهٔ 177
Whoever became the confidant of his own heart, in the sacred fold of the Beloved remained: He, who knew not this matter, in ignorance remained.
حافظ » غزلیات » غزل شمارهٔ 178
Arrived the glad tidings that grief’s time shall not remain: Like that remained not; like this shall not remain.
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Thou wrotest not the account of thy state; and, passed some time: Where a confidant so that to thee, I may send some message?
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Last night I saw that the angels beat the door of the tavern, The clay of Adam, they shaped and into the mould, they cast.
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O heart! Consume. For deeds thy consuming maketh: The repelling of a hundred calamities, the midnight supplication maketh.
حافظ » غزلیات » غزل شمارهٔ 187
For profligacy and love, my censure that foolish one maketh; Who, on the mysteries of men of hidden knowledge, criticism maketh.
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The admonishers who, in the prayer-arch and the pulpit, grandeur make, When into their chamber they go, that work of another kind they make.
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