Ghazal 289

Her moon-like cheek is a gathering of beauty and grace —

but she has no love and fidelity — O God, grant it to her.

My heart-stealer is a beauty and a child, and in play one day

she will kill me pitifully — and by law it will be no sin.

I had better guard my heart well from her,

for she has seen neither good nor bad, and has no regard.

The scent of milk comes from her sugar-like lip —

though blood drips from the way of her dark eye.

I have a fourteen-year-old idol, swift and sweet —

whose fourteenth-night moon is a slave-earring to the soul.

Where on earth did that newly-blossomed rose go, O Lord? —

for in all this time we have not seen her.

If the beloved of my heart breaks hearts in this way,

the king will soon take her into his royal bodyguard.

I will spend my life in gratitude, if that pearl-drop

finds its resting place in the shell of Hafez's breast.