Ghazal 235

How blessed the time when the beloved returns —

to the desire of the grief-stricken, the comforter returns.

Before the army of her imagination I drew the piebald horse of my eye,

in hope that the royal rider will return.

If my head does not go into the curve of her polo-stick,

I will say nothing of my head — for what use would it return?

I have sat like dust, resident on the head of her road,

in the desire that by this route she will return.

A heart that made a pact with the tip of her tresses —

do not imagine that peace will return to that heart.

What tyrannies the nightingales endured from winter,

in hope that spring would return once more.

From the design of destiny, there is hope, Hafez,

that like the cypress, the beauty will return to my hand.