غزل شمارهٔ 118

That one who, in his hand the cup hath. Ever the sovereignty of Jamshid hath.

That water, wherein Khizr obtained life, Seek in the wine-house; for, the cup hath.

Pass life’s thread into the cup; Wherein, order, this thread hath.

We and wine, and Zaheds and piety, Let us see desire for whom the Beloved hath.

O Saki! without thy tress, there is naught, In the time of that one, who desire hath.

All the ways of intoxication, the narcissus, From thy pleasant eye, loaned hath.

The mention of thy face and tress, to my heart, Is a great pain that, morning and evening, it hath.

On the wounded hearts of the sorrowful, Complete saltiness, thy lip hath.

O Soul! in the pit of the chin, like Hafez, Two hundred slaves, thy beauty hath.