غزل شمارهٔ 16

The great curve that, into the bow, thy told eye-brow cast, In design of the blood of me, miserable, powerless, it cast.

Not the picture of the two worlds was, when was the color of love: Not at this time, Love’s foundation, did Time cast.

With one glance, in boasting, that the Narcissus made A hundred calamities into the world, thy eye’s deceit cast.

Wine drunk, sweat expressed when thou wentest to the sward: That fire into the ruddy Arghavan, thy sweat cast.

Me, drunken passing the lawn yard The bud of Thy lips made me think, last night.

The violet fastened u p her twisted tresses: Before the assembly, the tale of Thy tress, the wind cast.

Through shame of that one who likened it to thy face, Dust into her own mouth, by the hand of the wind, the lily cast.

Through austerity, I should never have seen the wine or the minstrel. Into this and into that, desire for young Magians cast.

Now, with water of ruby wine, I wash my religious garment: From one’s self, the lot of eternity without beginning one cannot cast.

Perchance in this disastrous state, was the opening of Hafez, Whom, into the wine of Magians, the destiny of eternity without beginning cast.

Now, the world becometh to my desire. For time’s revolution Me, into the service of the Khwaja of the world, cast.