غزل شمارهٔ 120

I have an idol that, the canopy of the hyacinth around the rose hath: A line in the blood of the Arghavan, the spring of his cheek hath.

O Lord! the dust of the line covered the sun of his face: Give him everlasting life, who everlasting beauty hath.

When I became lover, I spake saying: “I have carried off the jewel of my desire:” I knew not what, blood-scattering, waves, this sea hath.

From his eye, it is not fit to take the soul. For, from every direction, I see Of the corner, he hath made the ambush; and the arrow in the bow hath.

When from around lovers’ heart, He loosed the snare of the tress, To the informer of the wind, He speaketh saying: “Secret, our mystery, he hath.”

On the dust, scatter the draught; and behold the state of people of rank: For, of Jamshid, of Kay Khosro, a thousand tales, it hath.

O nightingale! when in thy face the rose laugheth, be not in her snare, For, on the rose, is no reliance, say, the world’s beauty, it hath.

O watchman of the assembly! for God’s sake, take my justice from him: For, with others, he hath drunk wine; and with me, a heavy head hath.

If thou bind me to the saddle-strap, for God’s sake, quickly make me prey: For, in delay are calamities; and the seeker’s loss, it hath.

Make not excluded my eye from the cypress of thy heart-seeking stature: Plant in this its fountain-head; for pleasant running water, it hath.

From the fear of separation, make me safe, if thou have hope of it, Saying: “In safety from the eye of ill-thinkers, thee, God hath.”

To my own fortune, what excuse may I utter? For that knave, city-upsetting Slew Hafez with bitterness; and, in his mouth, sugar hath.