Ghazal 330

You are like the dawn, and I am the candle of the solitude of early morning —

smile, and see how I surrender my life.

Since the brand of your rebellious tresses is so upon my heart,

my grave will become a violet-garden when I pass away.

On the threshold of your desire, I have opened the door of my eye —

that you cast one glance — yet you cast me from your sight.

What thanks shall I give you, O host of grief — God pardon you —

that on the day of my solitude you do not leave my head.

I am the slave of the pupil of my eye, which with its dark heart

rains a thousand drops when I count the heart's pain.

At every glance our idol shows her splendor — but

no one sees this coquetry the way I behold it.

If the beloved should pass like the wind over the dust of Hafez,

from longing, in that narrow place, I will tear my shroud.