غزل شمارهٔ 180

O thou whose pistachio, laugheth at the tale of candy! I am desirous. For God’s sake, one sweet smile, smile.

With thy stature, the Tuba tree cannot boast: By this tale, I pass. For long, becometh the matter.

Thou wishest not that a river of blood should gush from thy eye? On the constancy of society of rosy ones, bind not thy heart.

If sullenness thou display; or if reproach, thou make, The allied friend of the man, self-approving, we are not.

Of the perturbation of my state, acquainted how becometh That one, whose heart captive to this noose became not?

Brisk is the market of desire. Where is that candle-face? So that, on the ruddy fire of his face, soul and heart, I may make rue.

Wherever our lover shows His sweet smile, Who will be thou pistachio, for God’s sake smile not!

Hafez! The glance of the saucy ones, thou abandonest not: Knowest thou where thy place is Khwarazm, or Khojand?