غزل شمارهٔ 35

O admonisher! Go about thy own work: what is this tumult? From the hand, my heart hath fallen: what hath befallen thee?

The connection with Him, which God out of naught hath created Is a subtlety which no created being hath solved.

So long as His lip causeth me not to reach my desire, like the reed. In my ear, the counsel of the whole world is like wind.

Independent of the eight abodes of Paradise is the beggar of Thy street: Free of both worlds is Thy bound captive.

Although love’s intoxication hath received me; yet, By that intoxication, the foundation of own existence is prosperous.

O heart! bewail not of the injustice of Thy beloved’s violence. For, the Beloved Hath thus advised thee: and this is justice.

Hafez! Go; utter no tale; breathe no majestic verse, For I remember many a one of these wondrous conceits and magic verses.