Ghazal 296

If fortune aids me, I will bring her hem into my grasp —

if she kills me, what joy! If I am slain, what honor!

This hopeful heart of mine has not tied the knot of generosity from anyone —

though my tale is carried to every side.

From the curve of your brow, no opening came to me —

alas, in this crooked fancy, precious life was wasted.

When will the beloved's brow become the plaything of my fancy? —

no one has shot the arrow of desire from this bow to hit the mark.

How long shall I tenderly nurture the love of stone-hearted idols? —

these undutiful sons do not remember their father.

I, in the fancy of being an ascetic, sit in a corner — and the wonder is

a young Magian from every side strikes me with harp and drum.

The ascetics are unaware — recite the verse and do not say more —

the morality-guard is drunk on authority — give wine and do not fear.

See the Sufi of the city, how he eats the morsel of doubt —

may his tail be long, that well-fed animal.

Hafez, if you step sincerely on the path of the holy house,

the aspiration of the chief of Najaf will be your escort.