Ghazal 163

The rose without the beloved's face is not sweet —

spring without wine is not sweet.

The edge of the meadow and the stroll through the garden —

without a tulip-cheeked one, it is not sweet.

The swaying of the cypress and the beauty of the rose —

without the nightingale's song, it is not sweet.

With a sugar-lipped, rose-bodied beloved —

without kisses and embraces, it is not sweet.

Every image that the hand of reason draws —

except the image of the beloved, it is not sweet.

The soul is a paltry coin, Hafez —

for the sake of offering, it is not sweet enough.