Ghazal 224

Blessed is the heart that does not constantly chase after sight —

that does not go unaware to every door that calls it.

It would be better not to covet that sweet lip —

but how can the fly not go after sugar?

Do not wash the dark of my grief-stricken eye with tears,

for the image of your mole will never leave my sight.

Do not withhold your scent from me like the breeze —

for without the tip of your tresses, my life does not go on.

O heart, do not be such a wanderer and vagrant —

for no work gets done before you with this skill.

Do not look upon me the drunk with the eye of contempt,

for the honor of the law does not diminish by this much.

I, a beggar, have desire for a cypress-statured one

whose waist one cannot reach except with silver and gold.

You, who from the nobility of your character are another world —

may the memory of my vow not leave your mind.

I see no one with a blacker record than myself —

how can the smoke of my heart not rise to my head, like a pen?

Do not lead me astray by the hoopoe's crown — for the white falcon

does not go after every small prey, like the sparrowhawk.

Bring wine, and first give it to Hafez's hand —

on condition that no word from this gathering goes outside.