غزل شمارهٔ 189

If again passing, the bird of fortune shall make. Again the Beloved shall come; and contentment with union shall make.

Although, to the eye remaineth no power of the pearl or the jewel, It shall devour a great quantity of blood, and the design of a great scattering shall make.

Last night, I said: “Maketh the ruby of His lip my remedy?” Voice, gave the invisible messenger saying: “Yes! it maketh.”

To Him, of our tale none can utter; Perchance, its reporting the morning breeze maketh.

To the hawk of my own sight, I have given flight at the partridge: Perchance, it may call my fortune; and a great prey may make.

Void is the city of lovers; it may be that from a quarter, Out from himself, a man cometh; and a work maketh.

Where a generous one, from whose banquet of joy, the grief-stricken one Drinketh a draft; and the repelling of wine-sickness maketh?

Either fidelity; or the news of union with Thee; or the death of the watcher: Of these, one, two, or three, deeds the sphere’s sport maketh.

Hafez! If, even a day, from His door, thou go not, From a corner of a quarter, passing by thy head, He maketh.