غزل شمارهٔ 93

What kindness it was when, suddenly, the dropping of thy pen Represented the obligations of our service according to the goodness of thee.

To me, salutation thou hast written with the nib of the pen: Be not the work of Time’s house without the writing of thee!

I say not in mistake, thou recollectedest me, heart bereft: For, in wisdom’s account, mistake lieth not in the pen of thee.

Despicable, make me not in thanks for this favor That lasting Fortune, dear and honored, held thee.

Come. For, by thy tress-tip, I will vow ‘That if my head goeth, I will not uplift it from the feet of thee.

Of the state of us, thy heart may become acquainted; but at the time, When the tulip blossometh from the dust of those slain of grief for thee.

With a draught, assist the soul of us thirsty When, from the cup, the limpid water of Khizr they give thee.

O Isa-breeze! happy ever be all thy time For alive became the heart-broken soul of Hafez by the breath of Thee.