Ghazal 461

I have written the tale of my longing, and my tears weep —

come, for without you I have come to my life's end from grief.

Many times I have said from longing, with my two eyes:

O dwellings of Salma, where is your Salma?

A strange event and a rare occurrence —

I have been patient, though slain, while my killer complains.

Who has the right to fault your pure hem? —

for like a drop that falls on the rose-petal, it is pure.

From the dust of your feet, the tulip and rose got their luster —

when the pen of creation drew its line with water and clay.

The breeze has become perfume-scattering — cupbearer, arise —

and bring the sun of the vine, fragrant and pure.

Leave laziness — you will profit — for a proverb has passed:

the provisions of the wayfarers are agility and alertness.

No trace remains of me without your visage — indeed,

I see the marks of my life from your face.

Hafez, how can speech describe your beauty? —

for like the work of God, it is beyond comprehension.