Ghazal 237

My breath has come to its end, and desire from you does not come —

alas, my fortune does not wake from sleep.

The breeze threw a dust from her lane into my eye,

so that the Water of Life no longer comes into my view.

Until I embrace your tall stature,

the tree of my desire does not bear fruit.

Except by the face of my heart-adorning friend — otherwise

in no way does my work come right.

My heart settled in your tresses, seeing a pleasant darkness,

and from that affliction-bearing stranger no news comes.

From the bow of sincerity I loosed a thousand arrows of prayer,

but what use — not one hits its mark.

I have much to say to the dawn breeze about my heart,

but tonight, by my luck, dawn does not come.

In this fancy the time of life has passed, and still

the calamity of your dark tresses does not come to an end.

So much has Hafez's heart fled from everyone

that now it does not come out from the ring of your tresses.