Ghazal 153

At dawn, when the King of the East raised his banner upon the mountains,

my beloved, with the hand of mercy, knocked upon the door of the hopeful.

When it became clear before the bright dawn what the sun's state of love is,

a pleasant laughter rose and struck the pride of the fortunate.

Last night in the gathering, when my beloved rose with intent to dance,

she undid the knot of her tresses and struck the hearts of friends.

At that moment I washed my hands in my heart's blood of the color of virtue,

when her wine-measuring eye called out to the sober ones.

What iron-heart taught her this way of trickery?

For when she first came out, she struck the path of the night-vigil keepers.

The fancy of riding like a king ripened, and suddenly the poor heart —

O Lord, protect it! — struck against the vanguard of the cavalry.

In the water and color of her face, how we gave our lives and swallowed blood!

When her design first succeeded, she set the seal upon the life-sacrificers.

How can I lasso her with my woolen cloak?

She whose single hair from her lashes struck the path of dagger-bearers.

Look to the lot of grace and the fortune of the king —

grant Hafez his heart's desire, for he cast the omen of the fortunate.

The victorious king, the brave of realm and faith, Mansur —

whose unstinting generosity put the spring clouds to shame with laughter.

From the moment the wine-cup was honored by his hand,

time raised the goblet of joy in memory of wine-drinkers.

From his head-scattering sword, victory gleamed that day

when, like the star-burning sun, he struck alone against thousands.

Ask of God's grace the continuance of his life and realm, O heart,

for the sky stamped this coin of fortune in the turn of ages.