Ghazal 209

The slaying of this broken one by your sword was not in destiny —

otherwise, your merciless heart made no omission.

When I, the madman, was letting go of your tresses,

nothing was more fitting for me than the ring of a chain.

O Lord, what essence does this mirror of beauty hold?

For my sigh had no power of effect upon it.

I raised my head in regret toward the tavern doors,

since there was not a single elder in the cloister who recognized you.

More graceful than your stature, nothing grew in the garden of grace —

more beautiful than your image, nothing existed in the world of pictures.

So that perhaps like the breeze I might reach your lane again —

last night my only gain was the cry of the pre-dawn.

What I endured from you, O fire of separation — like a candle,

nothing was my remedy from your hand but my own extinction.

The grief of Hafez without you was a verse of torment —

that needed no commentary for anyone.