غزل شمارهٔ 195

The slave of thy intoxicated eye, crown-possessors are: Undone with the wine of Thy ruby lip, sensible ones are.

For Thee, the wind and for me the water of the eye became informers: If not, mystery-keepers the lover and the Beloved are.

When Thou passest, glance: Beneath Thy two tresses, From right and left, how restless they are.

Like the wind, pass over the violet-bed. Behold, From the tyranny of thy tress, how sorrowful they are!

O God-recognizer? Our portion is paradise. Go: For deserving of mercy, sinners are.

To that rose cheek not alone do I sing the love song: For, on every side, Thy nightingales a thousand are.

O Khizr of auspicious foot! Be thou my handseizer. For I Travel on foot; and my fellow-travelers on horse-back are.

To the wine-house, go; and with wine make ruddy thy face: To the cloister, go not: for there, dark of deed, they are.

Free of that twist-possessing tress, Hafez be not: For, free, those bound to Thy girdle are.