غزل شمارهٔ 126

Without the Beloved’s beauty, inclination for the world, my soul hath not: O God, every one who this hath not, that hath not.

A trace of that Heart-Ravisher, with none, I beheld: No news of him, have I: He, a trace hath not.

In this path of love, every drop of night dew is a hundred fiery waves: Alas! explanation, or revelation, this subtlety hath not.

From the hand, one cannot give the stage of contentment. O camel-driver! lower; for this path limit hath not.

The harp, bent of form, calleth thee to joy: Hearken: for any injury to thee, the counsel of old men hath not.

O heart, learn the way of profligates from the Mohtaseb. Being drunken, but on his rightness no one suspects not.

The circumstances of the treasure of Qarun which, to the wind of destruction Time gave. Utter ye to the rose-bud, so that its gold, hidden, it have not.

A slave like Hafez, any one in the world hath not. For, a king like thee, any one in the world hath not.