Ghazal 27

Into the Magian temple my beloved came, cup in hand —

drunk from wine, and the wine-drinkers drunk from her narcissus eyes.

In the horseshoe of her steed the shape of the new moon appeared,

and beside her tall stature the pine tree looked humble.

How can I say I am aware of myself, when I am not?

And why should I say she is absent from my sight, when she is here?

The candle of my companion heart went out when she arose,

and a cry rose from the onlookers when she sat down.

If musk became fragrant, it was from winding through her hair —

if kohl became an archer, it joined at her brow.

Return — for then the lost life of Hafez will return,

though the arrow that has flown from the bow never returns.