Ghazal 334

If my hand reaches the tip of your two tresses again,

like the ball, how many heads I will play at your polo-stick.

Your tresses are a long life for me — but I do not have

in hand a hair's-tip of that long life.

Grant me the permit of rest, O candle — for tonight

from the fire of my heart I melt before you like a candle.

At that moment when with one laugh I give up my life like a flask,

I want your drunkards to say my funeral prayer.

Since the prayer of this stained one is no prayer,

my burning and melting in the tavern will not decrease.

In mosque or tavern, if your image should come,

I will make the prayer-niche and the fiddle from your two brows.

If one night you illuminate our solitude with your face,

like the dawn I will raise my head above the horizons of the world.

The end of this affair will be praiseworthy on this path,

if my head goes in the passion for Ayaz.

Hafez, to whom shall I tell the grief of my heart? — for in this age,

nothing but the cup can be the confidant of my secret.