غزل شمارهٔ 76

Save Thy threshold, my shelter in the world is none. Save this door, my fortress-place is none.

When the enemy draweth the sword, we cast the shield: For save weeping and wailing, our sword is none:

From the tavern-street, why turn I away my face? For better than this, in the world, my way and path is none.

If, into the harvest of my life, Time cast fire, Say: “Consume; for, equal to a little blade of grass, in my opinion, it is none.”

I am the slave of the saucy eye of that straight stature, From whose wine of pride, at any one, glance is none.

Be not in the pursuit of injury: do whatever thou desirest: For in our Shariat, save this, a sin is none.

O King of the dominion of beauty! go rein drawn: For at the head of a street, is it not a justice-seeker is none?

Thus it is, that, in every direction, I behold the snare of the Path: Save the shelter of His tress, my shelter is none.

To the tress and the mole give not the treasure of the heart of Hafez; For deeds like these, the power of every black one is none.