غزل شمارهٔ 131

Come; for plunder of the tray of fasting, the Turk of the sky hath made: Hint at the circulation of the cup, the new crescent moon hath made.

The reward of fasting and the pilgrimage of acceptance, took that one Who, to the dust of the wine-house of love, pilgrimage made.

Our true dwelling is the corner of the tavern: God give good to him, who this edifice made.

What is the price of wine like the ruby? The jewel of reason: Come; for profit took that one who, this barter made.

In the curve of those eye-brows of prayer-arch fashion, prayer That one maketh, who, in blood-water, pure his heart made.

Alas! to-day, the bold eye of the city Sheikh, At the dreg-drinkers, glance with contempt, made.

Look at the lover’s face and beg your eyes, Because eyes can see deep through the view, made.

Hear love’s tale from Hafez not from the admonisher, Although, in example, much art he made.